


It Must've Been Something You Said

by v_writings



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gentle femdom, Insecurity Issues, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_writings/pseuds/v_writings
Summary: After you move out of the town where you lived all your life, you don’t see your biggest enemy Peter Maximoff until several years later, when many things have changed– including yourselves.





	It Must've Been Something You Said

It’s  _High School_. It’s the time of  _hormones_  and  _puberty_  and figuring out who you want to be and basically, not knowing a damn thing about  _anything_. But in the midst of all that confusion there is  _one_ thing that everyone knows to be an irrefutable, universal truth: you and Peter Maximoff have  _always_  hated each other.

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment when your dislike for him began because it feels as if it’s been a part of you for as long as you can remember, and you assume it’s the same for him because you’ve been fighting each other since you were  _very_ young. There is no recollection of you two not being hostile towards each other at any point in your lives and, to tell the truth, you’re not interested in being anything else but that to him.

Still, it’s not even the fact that he annoys you to no end what bothers you the most about him– everyone knows he’s unable to win a battle of wits against you no matter how hard he tries and how impossibly elaborated his retorts to what you say are; no– the worst part of this whole thing is that he  _always_  seems to be one step ahead of you. 

Somehow, he always knows what you’re going to do and hijacks it in whatever way he can.

 _That_  is what you hate the most about him.

Your mother said that girls mature sooner than boys do– and maybe that’s an explanation to why, as of late, you’ve simply become tired of this thing you’ve got going on with Peter. It’s taking up too much time and effort of your life and you simply don’t feel like it’s worth it anymore to care so much about a person you hate as much as him. Sadly, it’s clear he doesn’t feel the same way, because he keeps bugging you and teasing you relentlessly.  _And you reply._  That’s the worst part– not being able to stop yourself from replying to him when he taunts you. You  _wish_  you were able to, but he simply brings out a side of you that  _no one_ in your life has been able to except him.

But in spite of that, you’ve decided to not pay attention to him anymore because if there is  _one_  person who isn’t worth caring about in this world– it’s definitely Peter Maximoff.

* * *

Oh, yes. Peter  _despises_ you. It’s the way you talk, walk, think, express yourself. He hates  _all_ of it. You annoy him more than anyone else in the world. And yes, he’s constantly taunting you and you get in the worst fights ever but… it’s  _not_ like he can help it. You’re  _always_ making fun of him– of his grades when they’re low, or when something he says maybe isn’t too smart. You love humiliating him in front of everyone and laughing at him. Does it hurt?  _Absolutely_ , but you can never,  _ever_ know that. And besides, he does get his revenge on you quite often; he’s ruined so many things you’ve done he could write a book about it. But hey, an eye for an eye, or something like that.

His sister is always telling him that the way he obsesses over you and making your live a living hell should be a red flag for _something_ but she won’t tell him what that is because, according to her, ‘ _he knows it, deep down’._ Well, he doesn’t. All he knows is that he hates you. 

He hates you,  _he hates you_ ,  _ **he hates you.**_  And that’s  _never_ going to change. There is no way in this universe, no circumstance, that will  _ever_ lead him to stop hating you.

* * *

You see him approaching you with a shit eating grin and you know what’s coming. You just failed your Calculus test– and embarrassingly so. You’ve never failed a test like this in your life– but you have so much in your mind at the moment that you just weren’t able to concentrate enough to study. And the fact that all your notes disappeared mysteriously  _again_  last week didn’t help your case, either.

“Oh, did the princess fail the test? Is the princess not as smart as she believes herself to be? Stop the presses, this has to be in the news. [Y/N], the most perfect student, fails her test.” Peter teases, and you know that if you had the power to kill with a glare– well, you would’ve killed him years ago, so you wouldn’t have to be hearing him be so annoying right now.

“Drop dead, Maximoff.” You say with a clear expression of disgust in your face before hitting his shoulder with yours with all the force you can muster, making your way through the group of students in the hallway.

Today isn’t a good day. Today is the day you have to break the news to your friends that you’re leaving town, and you’re  _not_  coming back. And you’re not leaving to a city near them– no. You’re moving across the country, which basically means your friendship just got a death sentence.

You’re not even going to bother to try and pretend everything is fine and that you’re not going to drift apart completely– because even though you’ll probably be in touch for the first months eventually the letters will stop and you friendship will start to fade until it becomes only a memory of the good times you had in this town when you were growing up.

Still, when you see your friends crying and telling you that they’ll promise they’ll write every week and that you’ll get through this– you don’t have the heart to tell them you know that’s not going to work. So you just nod and smile with tear-filled eyes, and hug them as tightly as you can.

* * *

Peter doesn’t like this. It makes him incredibly uneasy that for the past week you haven’t even looked at him twice– and he’s sure you’re planning something big to do to him. He has to make sure to plan something in advance to stop you from whatever you’re–

_Wait._

What are you doing?

Why are you cleaning your locker? Sure, it’s Friday– but that’s not a good enough reason for you to take everything out of it, including pictures and your mirror and everything you’ve been adding to it to decorate it. His feet lead him to you without him even noticing, and before he realizes what’s happening he’s standing next to you– a deep frown marring his expression.

“What are you doing?” He asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t care what you’re doing unless it’s something that has to do with him– but maybe this is part of the plan you’ve been concocting this past week and you’re trying to throw him off– or _something._

You turn to him and for the first time he notices big, dark shadows underneath your eyes– which are lacking their usual fire. You’ve  _never_  looked like this– he’s never seen you looking so tired before.

What on Earth is happening?

“Get lost, Maximoff. I don’t have time for you anymore.” You answer, closing your backpack and slamming the door of your empty locker before walking away. He’s by your side instantly, grabbing your arm to stop you.

“Why did you do that? What are you planning?” He asks, distrust lacing his tone. You remove your arm from his grasp roughly, glaring at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and looks at you with an expression he thinks will make you realize he’s not falling for whatever this is, but your expression just turns cold and you sigh in annoyance. “I’m leaving, dumbass. Go throw a party or something, this is the last time you’re gonna to see me. Now if you excuse me, I have no desire to keep wasting my time being with you. Have a shitty life, Maximoff.”

And just like that, you walk away.

He doesn’t say anything as you open the front door of the school and disappear– he just stands there, trying to process what you just told him.

He hates you, so this is the best news someone could have given him. He knows he should be happy and excited that he’ll never have to see your insufferable face again.

Except he isn’t– the only thing left in him after you’re gone is a hollow feeling on his chest and the sensation that something is missing from his life– but he refuses to acknowledge that it’s a product of your departure.

He doesn’t see you again after that.

* * *

* * *

_Years later_  

You watch the opened letter that now sits on your table while chewing on your thumbnail.

This is big.

No– scratch that. This is  _huge_. You knew it was a matter of time before they asked you because– well, because of your mutation, but that doesn’t stop the nervous feeling that has settled in your stomach. You’ve been waiting for this for a few months now, contemplating the general situations where it goes right and the other ones where it goes horribly wrong, but because there are so many people involved and so many different choices to be made you can’t see the future about this as clearly as you can see other things. That’s fine, though, because sometimes it feels nice to not know what’s going to happen.

Truth be told, seeing the future has its perks– obviously– but more often than not you wish everything would go back to how it was before your mutation activated, where the things you worried about the most were school, your friends and getting into a good college.

But then– weeks before you turned eighteen– your mutation activated and everything changed forever.

You used to be a firm believer of destiny and fate, but not anymore. As you so painfully learned, fate isn’t a real thing. There isn’t something destined to happen to everyone– that’s a lie. Every little choice a person makes affects the outcome of their future and everyone else’s– and that’s  _constantly_  changing. Deciding to drive your car on one street instead of the one you usually take creates a different outcome– a different timeline– from the one where you actually took the same road.

And you can see them all.

Everyone’s possible futures– you can see them  _all_.

It has taken you a decade of hard work to get to the point where you are now– fully able to control what you want to see and when you want to see it, but sadly, that wasn’t always the case. When your mutation first activated, the unleashing of information in your mind was so intense that you passed out and remained unconscious in the hospital for  _days_ , where your brain was monitored and it offered readings never seen before by any of the doctors.

According to your mom, the second day a woman appeared and talked to her– explained what was happening to you, and convinced her that she was the person you needed to get better. And  _she was_ , because her mutation was almost identical to yours– so she became your guide.

You had to isolate yourself for a full year without being in contact with anyone but your guide because every time you talked to someone you were instantly overwhelmed by every single possible outcome the conversation had and everything that could happen to them once you parted ways– and it was torture.

It was only after that year where you finally got a solid enough grasp of your power that allowed you to talk to other people besides your guide– and only after another year you were able to go back to society without the rampant fear of being overwhelmed by everyone’s possible futures.

Not too long after that you got into college, and got your PhD in History in record time.

 _The Prodigy of Harvard_ , they used to call you.

You got a job teaching there as soon as you graduated, and you’ve been working there for over five years now. 

Well, until now. 

The opened letter in your table sits next to another– one that you wrote on your own. A  _resignation_ letter.

You’re quitting Harvard to go to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

* * *

Peter is peacefully eating a Twinkie when he notices that something is off today at the mansion. He doesn’t normally pay a lot of attention to what happens around him, but today it seems that every teacher is in an especially jittery mood, and now that he’s _actually_ looking at them, he realizes that everyone looks like they put  _a lot_  of effort into their outfits.

“I think that’s her car.” He hears one of them say excitedly to another before they disappear through the door. He looks around to the students around him but they don’t look like they know something’s happening, so he comes to the conclusion that this has to be something that only the teachers care about– that is to say, something _irrelevant_. He’s pretty sure it’s just a new one joining them today.

The fact that they get excited for something like that is so boring that Peter  _literally_ yawns– and goes back to his room to entertain himself.

From the window next to his bed he can see the new teacher coming out of her car but it’s too far away for him to see her face clearly, but judging by the way she’s dressed and how she carries herself– it doesn’t seem like she’s old, as he’d believed she would be.

He wonders for a moment what subject will she teach, but he cares so little about the entire matter that he gets distracted almost immediately and the new teacher gets quickly forgotten.

* * *

“This will be your room.” Hank tells you with a smile as he helps you carry your suitcases inside. “But I’m sure you already knew that.” He continues sheepishly and you giggle, nodding.

“I did, actually. But thanks for the guided visit through the mansion, this place is gorgeous.” Hank nods in agreement and stands awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Um– I don’t want to sound overexcited or anything but it’s such a privilege to have you working here with us– not only because of your mutation obviously but also because we all know how incredible you are as a teacher. I attended–”

“My conference five months ago, I know. That’s when you decided to talk with Professor Xavier to try and get me to come and work here.” You finished for him with a slightly teasing smile. Hank laughs nervously and nods, face heating up in embarrassment.

“I still have to get used to you knowing things like that.” He says, shaking his head and putting his hands inside his pockets. “Well, I’ll leave you alone now. You can go talk to Charles whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll go meet him in two hours. Thank you for your help, Hank.”

“Anytime.” He smiles and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

You’re really excited for this job; getting to teach young mutants is something that you’ve always dreamed about. Sadly, there is one  _small_  thing that has been bothering you since the moment you decided to join Professor Xavier’s faculty. There are a group of mutants here called the X-Men, and one of them is the person who made your High School years a living hell.

Peter Maximoff.

* * *

Thankfully, you have a week off to familiarize with the mansion before you start with your position as History teacher when classes begin again– which leaves you with more than enough time to polish your class plans and also get to know the staff before next Monday.

You wake up early to take a shower, and your mind simply wanders to how the day can turn out. You don’t normally do this on a daily basis– you prefer the surprise of whatever turn of events ends up happening– but considering the nature of the situation and the fact that these are your first days in a new work environment, you simply can’t hold yourself back.

As you wash your hair, you can see that your day will be relatively normal. You will meet a few teachers and a couple of students, and everything seems like it’s going to be alright.

And then, Charles is going to ask you to meet the X-Men.

Peter.

_“What are you doing here?”_

You gasp and your eyes open, and your mind quickly blocks out the rest of the vision. You finish showering faster than expected and get out of the bathroom feeling tenser than before. Your mind goes to dark places as you remember your High School years, and without knowing it you are mumbling curses under your breath as you brush your hair angrily.

Sure, you’re both adults now, but that doesn’t mean that you want to see him after all these years. It’s been a long time since you last saw him but the fact that it’s in the past doesn’t mean it’s water under the bridge. Peter ruined your teenage years horribly, and the issues you had with him still remain unresolved. 

The thing is that this position was something you  _really_ wanted– and it wasn’t going to be Peter Maximoff of  _all people_  who was responsible for you letting this opportunity go to waste. That’s why, even knowing that the person who ruined what were supposed to be your  _best years_  is apparently someone who is very loved in this institution, you accepted.

The positive impact you can have on young mutants outweighs any other concerns you could’ve had before taking the job.

You dress casually and take a few deep breaths to calm down– because it’s infuriating that after so many years of not seeing him or hearing his name, Peter Maximoff can still make you feel this much anger. But you’re an adult now, and you have to handle this like one. If he wants to be a child then that’s on him– because you’re here to  _work_ , not engage in silly games of who can annoy the other person more. 

Still, you’ll make sure you end up in the timeline where you don’t see him–  _just in case._

* * *

Today’s training was so intense that the only thing Peter could do afterwards was take a shower and go to sleep. He’s been pushing his limits relentlessly to become the best X-Man he can possible be– and that means exhaustion, bruises and aching muscles every week.

But even then– it’s all worth it. For the work they are doing and the people they help– the  _mutants_  they help– it’s  _more_  than worth it.

Peter is so accustomed to having felt useless for the most part of his life that being part of a group that does so much good feels almost overwhelming. 

It’s a good kind of overwhelming, though.

He throws himself on his bed face down– hair still damp from his shower– and falls asleep seconds after his head touches the pillow.

When he wakes up again, the sky is pink and the sun is almost completely gone– which means that he took a nap that was long enough for him to recover his energy. He lounges on his bed for a few minutes until he gets bored, and he’s out of the room at the speed of light.

He founds his friends talking animatedly in the living room– all wide eyes and big smiles.

“So, what’s up?” He asks, startling half of them. Ororo narrows her eyes at him but Scott speaks before she can say anything.

“We just met the new History teacher. I can’t believe you missed it. She’s like, the coolest person I’ve ever met. And she’s about your age, too.” Peter’s eyebrows shoot up at this, his interest growing by the second.

“She’s incredibly smart. She graduated in Harvard faster than anyone else before. She was working there until Charles offered a position here. It’s a privilege to have her.” Jean adds, clearly excited.

“And she is very nice too. She said my skin vas zhe most amazing blue she had ever seen.” Kurt continues, sounding a little bit bashful.

Peter can’t help but be impressed by what he’s been told– and it makes him feel a _little_ too desperate to meet this new teacher for himself. If she’s half as good as they’re making her to be, he  _definitely_  wants to get to know her.

“And she can see the future.” Ororo concludes with a smirk.

Okay. Peter has to know more about this person _immediately._

“What’s her name?” He asks, sounding way too eager. He doesn’t care.

“[F/N].” They all answer in chorus.

* * *

“Thank you for everything, Charles. I am very excited to start working here, everyone is lovely.“  You say with a small smile to the man on the wheelchair in front of you. You’re standing outside his office– he stopped you a few minutes ago to ask you how you were doing and if you were getting used to the new place.

You are, and incredibly fast at that. The other teachers seem like very good people and the students are  _fantastic_.

"I’m glad to hear that.” He answers with a grin and then his gaze shifts from your eyes to something behind you. “Peter, there you are. Have you met the Professor already?” You feel a chill run down your spine at the mention of that name, and your smile falters for a moment before you get a grip of yourself again. You turn around as if nothing is wrong and– and–

And there he is. Peter Maximoff is standing just a few meters away from you and when your eyes meet it seems as if the world slows down to the point of stopping altogether. You don’t look away– you can’t– and he doesn’t either.

You expected the anger, the sadness, the  _rage_  to bubble up to the surface the moment you saw him again but instead of that there is a weird calmness inside you that leaves you in a peaceful state and more importantly, allows you to act like the mature adult you are.

“Hello.” You greet him, and just as you expected he’s in front of you in less than a second. You don’t react to that, except for the fact that your eyes close a little because of the gust of wind he caused with his speed– but that’s as much as he gets from you.

“Hi. I’m Peter.” He says, extending his hand. You _know_ he’s faking it because it’s written clear on his face– but you go with it for the sake of Charles and shake his hand with yours for a moment.

“Do you know each other already, by any chance?” Said man asks, and you curse inwardly because of course he knows– he’s a _telepath_.

“Actually…” You begin, but Peter interrupts you.

“Oooh, yes– now I remember you. We used to go to the same school, but we never really talked to each other. How has your life been, [Y/N]?” And there it is. The rage and hatred you thought were gone make themselves at home inside of you again, just like all those years ago.

You don’t know if it’s the way he phrased it, his sardonic smile or the fact that you hadn’t realized how not over him you were, but you search in your mind for the thing you can say that will hurt him the most and when you find it, you can’t stop yourself.

“Great, actually. I graduated in Harvard with honors and they offered me a position right away. What college did you go to? Are you a teacher here, too?” You don’t think you sounded passive-aggressive but instead it seems like you’re genuinely curious, which is what you were going for. You know he isn’t because he didn’t go to college, and judging by the flash of something you can’t quite place on his eyes and the way his jaw clenches, you hit him where you wanted to.

 _Fuck him_  for even trying to pretend he didn’t ruin as many years of your life as he did. He deserves this.

“I didn’t go to college. I’m actually a part of the X-Men team, as we call it.” His voice sounds like he’s restraining himself from saying something to you, and you can’t help but feel satisfied because of it.

“And he’s excellent, too.” Charles adds, and you don’t believe he doesn’t know there is something going on under the surface, but it seems he is actively choosing to stay out of it.

“I’m sure he is. You know, I met the other X-Men today and they didn’t even mention you, but I’m sure they just forgot.” You say with a dismissive wave of your hand. You just threw that one out there without even expecting him to react because one, it was true that they didn’t mention him but you honestly believe they simply forgot and besides you barely even talked– and two, it is a classic passive-aggressive thing to say to a person. You’re not proud of yourself for resorting to something like that but you’re already in deep shit anyway, so you don’t really care. The thing is that Peter looks like what you just said actually  _hurt_  him, and he swallows visibly before answering.

“Eh,” He shrugs his shoulders noncommittally, but it is clear as day to you that what you just said affected him. “Can’t expect them to think about me all day.”

“So…” Charles interjects, looking between you two with a small frown. “[Y/N], why don’t I show you your classroom? I’m sure you and Peter will have plenty of more time to catch up.” Bless Charles for trying to ease the sizzling tension between you two.

“I’m sure we will.” You say, looking at Peter for another moment before turning to Charles, this time with a genuine smile. “Yes, we should do that. Goodbye Peter, it was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise.” He says with a smile even faker than yours– and then he’s gone.

“Is everything okay between you two?” The Professor asks as you walk alongside him. You let out a sigh and shake your head, feeling instantly embarrassed for the way you acted.

“Let’s just say we knew each other a  _little_  better than he let on.” You say, looking straight ahead. You can’t believe you let him get to you like that– as if you were children again.

You promise yourself you won’t let him provoke you again– even if it takes ignoring him for all the time you work in this place.

“Ah, I see.” Charles responds, and by the tone on his voice you know he won’t ask anything else.

 _Good._  Those are times you never enjoyed revisiting.

* * *

Peter doesn’t even know where on Earth he is– he just ran and ran and ran until he found himself in the middle of some desert, and when he stops he does the only thing his mind wants him to: he _screams._

He screams and screams until his throat hurts, because he simply can’t believe that you made him feel like the most worthless piece of shit with such a small amount of words.

Well, you were always good at that. Humiliating him, making him feel stupid, unintelligent, _worthless_. It was your strong suit.

Still, he wasn’t ready for the onslaught of emotions you created in him– emotions that range from anger to pain to sadness to insecurity to hatred of you and hatred of himself.

Just like in High School.

He sits down on the ground and grabs the back of his head, pulling hard on his hair. He can’t believe that after all these years you still hold  _so much_   _power_ over him– that you destroyed the small amount of confidence he managed to build since he joined the X-Men in less than five minutes.

Yes, he lied. _Of course_ he remembered you– he knew that it was you from the moment the others told him your name– but he doesn’t want people knowing about your history with him. First, because they know the version of him that’s different from whom he was in High School– when he was an annoying little shit. Because you might have fucked his sense of self-worth but he would be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he did his fair share of shitty things to you. His own strong suit was taking all your schoolwork away when you were done with it– homework, notes, anything– and that forced you to do it all again to not fail your classes; you always ended up doing everything right anyway, so he doesn’t think the things he did to you were as bad as you always made them out to be– and second, because it worries him what you could be capable of doing or saying if people knew the true nature of your relationship. It could destroy the image people have of him– that of a good, carefree guy who jokes around and is typically nice to everyone.  _That_ is who he is– not the person he was over ten years ago.

So yes, he’s frustrated and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do now, but whatever that is he knows it will probably have to involve a conversation with you, and he’sreally  _not_ looking forward to that.

* * *

You have to meditate for two hours after you and Charles part ways just to get rid of the overwhelming negativity of the emotions that having that small conversation with Peter left inside you. 

When you’re done, you regret having reacted the way you did but you accept that it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been and you probably needed it anyway, because now you’re ready to not let Peter have such an impact on you again– and you’re sure you can handle him a lot better if you happen to see him again.

You skip dinner and go to bed instead, falling asleep faster than you thought you would– thankfully. 

Sadly, that means that at 3 a.m. in the morning you wake up _incredibly_  hungry. You search in your bag for something you can eat but you come up empty, which leaves you with only one other option: going to the kitchen.

You quickly look in your mind for the close future to see if there’s a chance of you seeing someone– but there isn’t. At least in the futures that are most likely to happen– and you’ve seen enough things to know that the most unlikely are called that for a reason, so you don’t even bother to check them.

You put your slippers on and exit your room quietly, careful to not wake up anyone else. You make your way through hallways and stairs until you’re finally where you want to, and you search in your mind for the place where you’re going to find something that pleases you– and that’s the third cabinet on your left. You open it and grab a couple of cereal bars before shutting it carefully, and added to that you grab an apple from the large bowl in the middle of the table. That’s going to be enough for tonight– and you plan to have a good breakfast in the morning.

The kitchen is only illuminated by the moonlight entering from the windows– which might be the reason why a silver blur passes right next to you and doesn’t even see you there. It also might be that he looks really sleepy as he opens another cabinet and pulls out a closed box of Twinkies– opening it carefully and eating two before you can even process what’s happening. By the time he goes for his third you cough softly, making yourself known. Peter’s head jerks towards you, mouth full, looking as if he’s been caught red-handed.

You look at him up and down before turning around, ready to leave, but he stops you by standing in front of you. You roll your eyes and search for a future where you can avoid this– but apparently there is no feasible way to stop this conversation from happening.

 _Of course_ one of the most unlikely futures happened and  _of course_  it has to do with him– that’s just how your life works when he’s involved. He simply fucks everything up.

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms as best as you can with the food in your hands.

“What are you doing here?” You narrow your eyes at him because that’s a stupid question to ask  _even for him_ , but you answer anyway.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Maximoff? You’re not the only person who can come to the kitchen to get something to eat. I live here now, too.” You can’t keep the defensiveness out of your tone of voice, but you didn’t expect you would ever be able to do that. You simply want to keep things as civil as possible– and not being defensive isn’t something you can do around him.

“Why are you here anyway?  _Who_ would leave Harvard for this?” He asks, disbelief clear in his expression and tone of voice.

“I believe that’s none of your business, is it?”

“It is when it’s you who comes here to fuck me up again.” He retorts, and by the way his eyes widen you know he  _did not_  mean to say that.

 _Too late_ – your blood is already boiling.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You ask in a low tone, uncrossing your arms and closing the distance between you two. “Me, fuck  _you_  up again? Funny, that’s  _not_  how I remember it. But, who knows? Maybe you don’t remember it  _at all_ , judging by what you told Charles today. Or were you lying to him right to his face?” Peter’s nose flares and his jaw clenches, but he keeps his eyes on yours.

“They can’t know about me and you. No one can.” Your eyebrows rise up and you let out a dry laugh.

“And why is that? Are you afraid that they might see their precious little Peter was a fucking asshole and he doesn’t deserve their time?” It seems like you’re stabbing him and turning the knife inside of him, if his expressions are anything to go by.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this– but you were never able to keep quiet if he provoked you. Not back then and  _definitely_  not now.

“Don’t say that.” He says, looking away. This is your cue to stop, so you shrug your shoulders and act uninterested.

“Stay out of my way then. I won’t tell your friends what a shitty person you were because I actually think they seem nice, but in return you  _leave me the fuck alone._ ” You don’t even wait for him to reply– you walk past him and out of the kitchen, your appetite now completely gone.

* * *

Peter is  _not_ a shitty person. He is a _good_  person who was kind of an asshole in the past but he’s grown up now and that’s behind him; those things he did years ago are not things he would do now even if he had the chance.

And yet, seeing you again awakens something inside of him that he thought was long gone– this  _deep, primal_  need to confront you and fight you, no matter how much he wishes he could just let it go and let you be.

He  _wants_  to, but this need is stronger than him and it has already overpowered him the two times he’s seen you– but you still have words that cut him like knives and affect him as if he was a teenager again– and the worst part is that he doesn’t think you know that. He doesn’t think you know the power you had–  _have_  over him, and that scares him the most because you can wreck him with a word and destroy him with a sentence without realizing what you’re doing.

It’s  _always_ been like this– and Peter foolishly believed that maybe things could be different now that you’re both adults, but apparently not.

So he is just going to do as you told him– he’s going to leave you _the fuck alone_  and wish for the best, hoping that he can stop himself from saying something provocative the next time he sees you again, because if he doesn’t do anything you have  _no reason_ to say anything to him.

* * *

This is your second week of teaching and everything is going smoothly. You succeeded in getting the kids to become interested in the subject and it seems that most of them are eager to learn, which is a  _wonderful_  victory. Also, you’ve never taught classes to children before, and most of them are so adorable that they make your heart swell.

“Hello, miss [Y/N].” Kurt greets you as you close the door of your classroom. You smile widely at him because this boy is  _so nice_  you can’t believe it.

“Hello, Kurt. How are you today?” You begin walking with him so you can go get your lunch, and he walks right alongside you.

“I am very good, zhanks for asking.” He smiles but it disappears quickly, and he looks deep in thought. “Miss [Y/N]… I vas vondering…” His hands fidget in front of him and you frown, because he looks  _nervous,_ for some reason. You quickly see the outcome of this conversation, and your expression switches from confusion to understanding. You stop walking and Kurt does too, but he refuses to look at you.

“You want me to tell you if you should ask that girl you like if she wants to go on a date with you?” He looks up at you for a moment before looking away again, nodding twice. “Kurt, you shouldn’t ask me to do this because knowing what’s going to happen can become very addicting, and I rarely tell people what’s going to happen with their futures because it isn’t set in stone, you can always change your mind and the future becomes something different.”

“Ja, of course. I am sorry I asked.”

“That being said…” You lean a little closer and lower your voice. “You should  _definitely_  go for it.” When you pull back you wink at him and his eyes widen dramatically– tail moving excitedly behind him. Before you can even react, his arms are wrapped around you tightly.

“Zhank you so much, Miss [Y/N]. You are zhe best.” You pat his back as much as you can with the little mobility his grip allows you to have, and the moment he pulls away from you completely he disappears immediately. You snicker to yourself and continue your way, feeling in your bones that today is going to be a good day.

* * *

Peter has  _no idea_  what just happened to him. He doesn’t know why when he saw you with Kurt in the hallway he stopped instead of just running past you. He doesn’t know why he listened to your conversation. He doesn’t know why seeing you being so carefree with one of his friends makes his stomach knot and makes him feel something he can’t define yet.

Even after you continue your way he remains standing where he is, unmoving, trying to figure out why he simply  _couldn’t stop_ looking at you.

He doesn’t like the way this feels– he doesn’t like it  _at all._

He goes to lunch and sits down with his friends while doing what he does best– pretending nothing is wrong. He jokes around and laughs with them and occasionally his gaze goes to you– but it’s too fast for anyone to realize what he’s doing. You’re sitting with the rest of the teachers looking like you’re having a very interesting conversation– although he doubts it. You are younger than most of them by a lot, which  _definitely_ makes it easier for him to get distracted by you when he looks that way.

It’s not nice to admit and he would  _never_ say it out loud– but you look a lot better than he remembered you.  _Beautiful,_  even– but that’s just him recognizing the fact that you are aesthetically pleasing and  _nothing else._

Or so he hopes, because the last thing he wants to happen to him is to feel attracted to you. That would be the ultimate irony.

Liking the person who is responsible for so many dark moments in his life when he was a teenager?

Yeah, as if that’s  _ever_ going to happen.

* * *

Time continues its course as you keep working and living in the mansion, creating a safe environment for children who feel like they need to talk to someone about their fears and doubts and honestly, you’ve never felt more fulfilled.

Peter hasn’t talked to you save from the occasional greeting when the situation demands it, so life has been great for you these past few months. You’ve even started to see him in a new light– because it’s pretty clear that he simply _isn’t_ the person he was a decade ago. He still hasn’t apologized for anything he did and neither have you, but you’ll take that over fighting any day.

Things are definitely looking up for you.

* * *

This is bad.

No, scratch that– this is  _a fucking catastrophe of biblical proportions._

Peter never wanted this to happen, he was fine training and going to missions and helping people, but then you simply had to drag your smart ass to this school and start living here and force him to see you every single day– and now this happened.

The  _impossible_ , the  _unthinkable_ , the  _worst thing that could ever happened to him_  has happened.

He has a crush on you.

Just to be clear, it’s not his fault. This was the last thing he wanted to happen, but every time he sees you with the younger kids and whenever you help them love themselves and give them advice he can’t stop the butterflies inside his stomach from flapping their wings wildly.

He  _hates_ this– but it’s the truth. 

He has a crush on you.

 _You._  The person who can make him feel like he’s worth even less than the dirt under your shoes– and he likes you.

 _What on Earth is wrong with him?_ Is he a masochist? Does he enjoy suffering and that’s why he subconsciously let himself feel attracted to you? Or is it how beautiful your smile makes you look and the fact that you give one hundred and ten percent of yourself to make sure your students feel safe and eager to learn? Is it the way your nose scrunches up when you’re not too pleased about something or is it–

That’s  _enough._  He doesn’t want to keep thinking about you because that’s all he’s been doing for weeks; he’s been thinking nonstop about you and making up scenarios in his head where you didn’t know each other from High School and instead met here for the first time– and how different things would be if that had been the case.

And what’s even worse– the fact that you don’t even give him a glance unless absolutely necessary is practically eating him alive. He  _knows_ that he can’t expect things to go back to how they were because that would be awful– but there is this twisted desire inside of him that  _actually wants that,_  because when you were teenagers you paid _so much_ attention to him that the thought of you not paying attention to him at some point in your lives had never even crossed his mind.

But here you are now– an accomplished, mature,  _gorgeous_  adult who is admired by pretty much everyone in the school,  _including him_. Of course he’s not going to tell anyone that, but he  _definitely_  admires you. It’s hard not to.

And then there’s  _him_ – who got to where he is now by luck and the fact that he has a useful mutation.

 _Him_ , who still lived in his mother’s basement until a little over a year ago.

 _Him,_ who can’t bring himself to talk to you and try to fix things between you two because he’s terrified of the way he feels about you.

Things are just not going very well right now.

* * *

You can’t be a person who lies to herself. You’ve learned that a long time ago, and it’s a principle you haven’t tried to cheat– ever.

Except  _maybe_  now.

You don’t know how or when or why it happened, but lately you’ve been finding yourself thinking about Peter in ways that make you feel a little uneasy.

As in, _romantic_ ways.

You wish you knew how to make those thoughts and feelings go away but you don’t– and they’ve been creeping up to you to the point where you would  _definitely_  be lying to yourself if you said you don’t feel attracted to him.

It’s frustrating to admit, but the fact that he’s done nothing to you in the past months has allowed you to see him without your rage-tinted glasses and the outcome of that is that you developed a crush on him.

Is he a good person? It bothers you to admit it, but yes,  _he is_. It’s clear that he’s not the person he was before you moved away– he’s a new, improved,  _better_  version of himself.

Is he hot? Yes,  _sure_ , he is. But that’s just you acknowledging the obvious.  _Everyone_ would answer the same.

It’s infuriating to realize you ended up with a crush on the person who made your teenage years suck so much– but here you are, no turning back now. And you definitely  _don’t_ want to know how this is going to end up. Nope. You’re  _not_ ready for that kind of knowledge.

So you’re just going to suck it up and act like nothing is happening inside you– something you learned to do pretty well when you were in High School. Smile and act as if Peter making all your work disappear meant nothing to you because you could easily do it again, when that wasn’t the case at all.

And that makes you feel even more angry at yourself– because what you and Peter lived together is still an unresolved issue in your life and now you have to add the fact that you have a  _crush_  on him.

Simply  _wonderful._  Things couldn’t be better.

* * *

On the bright side, it certainly helps Peter that you don’t talk to him because if you actually did things would be a lot more complicated than they are right now. His crush on you has only been escalating and becoming something stronger– as opposed as to what he believed that was going to happen, which was his crush dissipating. He doesn’t even think he should call it “a crush” anymore because he’s not a kid, and what he’s started to feel for you feels a lot  _bigger_  than that.

Sadly, bigger only means  _scarier_ , and now Peter is starting to become terrified of what he feels for you and what he wants to do because of it. Every time he sees you he’s flooded by this overwhelming need to speak to you and talk about the most mundane things possible– as if you didn’t have a shared past that doesn’t allow him to do just that.

It’s sad, but it’s just how things are.

“Peter, there you are.” He hears Charles’ distinctive accent behind him and turns around to find him looking at him with an expression he knows too well.

_He wants something._

“Yeah… what’s up?” He replies, crossing his arms suspiciously.

“Everything’s alright. Listen, Peter… I actually came to find you because I need a favour.”

“Yeah, I figured. What do you need?” Charles grins widely and joins his hands together on his lap.

“Well, you see, there is a field trip today and we need two chaperones because of the amount of children going but our second chaperone got sick this morning…” Peter practically feels the blood draining from his face as the world around him slows down.

He  _knows_  what field trip those kids are going to. _Your_  fieldtrip. You’re taking them to a Natural History Museum today, and if he says yes to Charles he will end up spending quite some time with you, even if it will be surrounded by children.

On one side this seems like a  _terrible_  idea– because the most likely outcome will be that the entire trip will become something awkward and impossible to bear and he might ruin it for you which will make you angry at him; and on the other side he can agree and actually be helpful and help rebuild the image you have of him into something better and maybe, _just maybe_ , in the future you could actually become something at least  _close_  to friends.

Maybe then the painful ache he feels on his chest whenever he sees you but has to keeps his distance will subside.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll do it.” He answers nonchalantly, as if this doesn’t mean the world tor him.

“Great, the bus leaves in 15 minutes but I don’t think time will be a problem for you. They are already waiting on the bus by the entrance. Meet them there when you’re ready.”

Peter stands up straight and salutes Charles mockingly before disappearing to his room.

* * *

You’ve been sighing so often for the past few minutes that a few of your students have asked you if you’re doing okay or if you need something and you replied that  _no, nothing is wrong_ – but that’s a lie.

Something  _is_  wrong– and that’s the fact that Peter Maximoff is going to be the other chaperone of this trip.

Did you want this to happen?  _Absolutely not_ , but the truth is that you have no other choice. Every single person you thought about can’t come with you, which leaves you with only one available option.

And that is  _him._

Charles assured you that he was going to take care of it and you know he will, just like you know Peter will be here in two minutes from now. There is a part of you that feels excited for what could happen if things actually turned out right, but there is also a _bigger_ part of you who doesn’t think anything good can come out of this idea– and you are not going to search in the possible futures because  _any_ possible outcome will affect your focus on the children and you can’t afford that today.  _They_  are the main priority, not you and Peter.

“Professor, do we have to wait a lot more to leave?” One of your students asks, sounding a little eager. That’s a good thing– it’s wonderful that they are excited.

“Just a minute longer and the replacement will be here.” You answer with a reassuring smile, and she nods and continues looking out the window.

“And who’s the replacement?” Another one asks, but before you can answer a gust of wind has your hair sticking to your face and you know the question just answered itself. You can see the excitement on the kids’ faces when they see Peter–  _at least_  that’s a good sign.

“Hello younglings. I am Peter Maximoff and I will be chaperoning your trip today alongside Professor [L/N], and I think we are going to have a lot of fun.” The kids cheer and while one side of you is happy to see them excited there is the other where you are angry because you  _know_ what he’s trying to do.

He’s trying to play _the cool-adult-who-is-not-a-teacher_  card, which leaves you to be the strict person.

That’s  _not_  going to happen.

“We’re good to go.” You say to the driver with a smile and he closes the door before starting the engine, and you turn to Peter. “You. Sit, now.” You point to the empty space next to you with a sharp look and his smile falters before he obeys. You grab your bag and pull a folder that you open quickly. “This is a list of all the students who are with us, memorize it and keep count of them as often as possible.” He grabs the paper and hands it back to you five seconds later.

“Done.” He says, and you know he isn’t joking. You take the paper and put another one in its place.

“This is our itinerary, memorize it as well. Your duty here is to keep an eye on the kids and make sure they don’t do anything that will get them or us in trouble.” He returns the paper seconds later again and you put it inside the folder before closing it.

“Piece of cake. Kids love me.” He says with a smirk, and you take a deep breath before you answer in the calmest tone you can manage at the moment.

“Listen to me. There’s not a good cop/bad cop thing going on here– you can’t be the carefree guy who lets them do whatever they want while I’m the strict one. Their safety and well-being comes first  _always_. We both have to keep them in line, is that clear?” His expression falls and he sighs, looking to the ground.

“I get it, [Y/N], okay? I won’t mess this up, I promise. You have nothing to be worried about.” You swallow and nod, putting the folder on your bag again.

“Good.” You answer, looking out the window while simultaneously trying to ignore the way you skin seems to tingle just because of the proximity of Peter’s body to yours.

It’s hard– but  _somehow_ you manage.

* * *

Peter hasn’t been a recipient of your orders or a listener of your commanding voice before– which is the reason he’s still reacting to the fact that when you talked to him like that it made his knees feel like jelly and his stomach to tighten. He would’ve said it was a response to the fact that you make him the  _bad_ kind of nervous, were it not for the fact that he also became overwhelmed with the need to smash his lips into yours. He didn’t do that,  _of course_ , but the desire had been practically coming out of him in waves.

He doesn’t know if you realized because you definitely seem more concerned about the kids than anything he does– but he’s sure you couldn’t have missed the way his hands were fidgeting on his lap or the fast bouncing of his leg. You didn’t say anything about it though, so there is no way he can tell for sure.

He can’t get out of the bus fast enough when you finally arrive to your destination, because travelling for hours sitting still in a bus filled with children is something he simply doesn’t do–  _ever._

He knows that getting something to eat and appearing next to you with it is going to annoy you– so,  _naturally_ , he does it anyway. You are counting the children while he eats right by your side, and it isn’t until you’re done that you turn to him and see what he has on his hand.

“Where did you–” You shake your head and lift your hand up. “I don’t even care.” He grins widely before finishing his sandwich as you turn to the children again. “Okay kids, follow me. Peter, you’re at the end of the line. Let’s go.” He nods exaggeratedly and you roll your eyes before you start walking with the children behind you.

God, he likes you so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

* * *

You have to admit that you’re surprised at how well Peter is handling this job. He’s naturally great with the children and they all seem to love him, so you can guide them through the museum while Peter makes sure they don’t do anything they’re not supposed to. You’re working very well together– and that’s something you weren’t expecting.

The trip ends up being an absolute success and while you climb onto the bus as you all get ready to leave, you see Peter already on the seat you both shared before. You count the children one last time and the driver closes the door when you confirm that you’re all set. As you sit down next to Peter, he pulls out what you know is a sandwich wrapped on white paper.

“Here.” He says, handing it to you. You look at it for a second and then back at him. “You didn’t eat anything today, I noticed. You have to eat something. So,  _here_.” Your eyebrows shoot up as a warm feeling settles in your stomach because not only did he notice you didn’t eat– you really forgot– but he also got you something to make sure you did. “[Y/N], take it. It’s not poisoned or anything.” You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out, so you simply extend your hand and take the sandwich from his own.

“I wasn’t–” You shake your head. “Thank you, Peter.” You say honestly, and you can see his face turning completely red before his blush  _magically_  disappears.

“It’s nothing.” He answers, shrugging his shoulders.

“No, it’s not nothing. Seriously, thank you. And thank you for coming today and helping out. You did a wonderful job.” He swallows visibly and scratches the back if his neck self-consciously, which simply looks  _adorable._

“Anytime.” He answers as the bus starts to move, and that’s the last thing he says before you start eating the sandwich he gave you.

* * *

There is something about hearing you be  _actually nice_  to him for the first time  _ever_ that has Peter practically floating around. He doesn’t want to feel so eager to take scraps of your kindness just because you are _never_  like that with him– but he can’t stop himself. You being nice to him feels _right_ , like it’s the way things should’ve been–  _could’ve_  been.

Now more than ever his mind wanders and Peter finds himself fantasizing about what could’ve been of you two if you had never been enemies when you were younger– or if you had been friends, even. He dreams about you helping him with his school work and helping him be a better student and him telling you about his mutation when he couldn’t tell anyone else.

If that’s the way things would’ve been he knows he would have fallen in love with you eventually– and who knows, he might’ve even had a chance with you then.

But now– now it’s simply wishful thinking,  _nothing more._

“Okay kids, we’re here. Don’t hurry to get out of the bus and make a mess. Okay, let’s go.” He hears you say as you stand in the small space between the rows of seats.

Wait…  _what?_

You’re _here_  already?

 _No_ , it can’t be. Peter refuses to believe that time simply flew away from him because that doesn’t happen to him, _ever_. The only reason he can find for time to have passed so quickly for him is that he was thinking about you and looking at you and getting lost in his fantasies and–

Oh– maybe it  _does_ make sense.

“You okay?” You ask him, standing in front of him now. When did  _that_ happen? You were standing a few feet away from him just a moment ago. “Peter?” You rest your hand on his shoulder and lean a little closer, and Peter feels a warm feeling spreading from the spot where you’re touching him to the rest of his body. His hand goes instinctively to rest on top of yours, and the warm feeling threatens to overwhelm him. He looks at you and just now realizes how  _close_ you are, and he simply can’t find the words to answer you. You look a little shocked as well, but you don’t pull away.

“I’m– I’m fine.” He answers in a whisper, rubbing your hand with his thumb absentmindedly. This is  _right_ – this is how things are  _supposed to be_. You being this close to him feels  _perfect._

“Okay…” You answer, still not moving. You continue looking at him and for Peter is an wonderful eternity even if for you it’s only seconds. And then, just as he returns to the normal speed of the world, you blink quickly and back away before pulling your hand from his shoulder. “Um… yes. We should go now.” You look like you want to say something else but instead you turn around and practically _jump_  out of the bus. Peter speeds past you and the other kids without any of you noticing– feeling desperate for some alone time to think about  _what the hell_ just happened.

* * *

After you made sure all the children were safe back inside the mansion, you were _finally_ able to go to your room to think about everything that happened today. As soon as you close the door, everything you had been repressing in front of the kids comes back to you in full force– and it feels as if it’s crushing you. You slide down to the floor, grabbing your head with both hands as you try to calm your breath.

You and Peter had  _a moment_. You had a tension-filled, energy-sizzling-in-the-air moment… and it was _amazing._

An involuntary, happy giggle leaves your mouth when you remember the feeling of his finger rubbing the skin of your hand as it rested on his shoulder and your stomach  _immediately_  fills with butterflies. You remember the way he looked at you, as if he simply  _couldn’t_ look away– just like  _you_  couldn’t separate your eyes from his.

Did he always have such beautiful eyes? It is easy to get lost in them when they are so  _incredibly_ gorgeous– so technically it isn’t  _your fault_ that you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

You stand up from the floor with a smile on your face that just doesn’t want to go away– and make your way to the bathroom to take a shower.

You want to tell yourself that it was probably nothing– that it didn’t mean anything and you shouldn’t make a big deal out of it, but you can’t. You feel in your bones that the moment you shared meant as much to Peter as it did to you, and there is nothing you can do that will convince you otherwise– besides Peter outright saying it didn’t, that is.

As you wash yourself, you wonder what you are going to do now. You can’t just walk up to him and say _“hey Peter we should talk about that moment we had on the bus”_ , because who on Earth does that? And  _especially_  someone your age. You’re not a kid anymore; you can’t just go around doing things like that– which means that you don’t know how to face this.

Unless you casually run into Peter at one point where you are both alone and something prompts you to talk about it…

And there it is. Tonight after everyone has gone to sleep Peter will get a snack and, if you go down too, you will find him. That’s as far as you allow yourself to see as you quickly exit the shower, thinking about what can you say to prompt Peter to talk about today.

* * *

Peter is sweating buckets, pacing around his room. He isn’t sweating because he’s pacing, though, he’s sweating because of how  _nervous_  he is.

What you both shared on the bus was _real_ and he knows it– which is making him question everything he thought to be true. Could it be possible that maybe,  _just maybe_ , there is something you feel for him apart from pure, unadulterated dislike? Is this something that is really happening to him?

He’s too old for this– too old for crushes and this kind of feelings and not knowing what to do. Granted, he was never good at any of these things but there was a time in his life when he seriously believed that he would have all of it figured out already when he was the age he is now.

Bullshit.

He knows _nothing_ about  _anything_ – he doesn’t know how to talk to you, how to be around you, how he could ever approach the subject of him liking you.

He shudders at the thought of confessing his feelings– and your face turned into a sneer as you laugh at him takes over his thoughts. He shakes his head as his anxiety turns his stomach into knots, and closes his eyes tightly to get rid of that vision.

It works, and your sneer turns into a soft smile instead.

 _“I like you too.”_  The imaginary version of yourself says in a whisper and Peter gasps softly because right after you say it he imagines you grab his face and start kissing him. A rush of blood goes straight to his groin and he opens his eyes immediately, looking down at his lap where he can see his own hardness clearly.

“Fucking traitor body.” He mumbles angrily before throwing himself back into his bed. He tries to get rid of his hard-on, he  _really_  does, but his mind is showcasing a series of his recent memories of you and he knows it won’t go away until he takes care of it.

His hand unbuttons his jeans and lowers his zipper before he slides it inside his underwear, gasping in pleasure when he finally touches the sensitive skin of his erection. He lets his imagination wander off and it’s  _all_  fantasies of  _you_ – touching him, biting his lip, nibbling on his earlobe, pulling on his hair, joining your lips together– and before he knows it he finishes with a low groan, emptying himself into his boxers. 

As he comes down from his high, he can only wonder what it would feel like if you were  _actually_ here with him… and just like that, he’s hard again.

* * *

Peter was absent during dinner, which makes you wonder if that’s the reason why he will get something to eat later– or maybe he just took food but you are all too slow to see him. The point is, he hasn’t missed a meal for as long as you have been living here– at least any of the meals where you were present too.

An unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach when your mind starts to think that maybe he skipped dinner purely because of you– that maybe the moment you had really didn’t mean something to him as it did to you and he knows it, so he’s avoiding you.

Maybe your idea of seeing him tonight isn’t as good as you thought– maybe you should just go to sleep and forget about what happened. 

Yeah, that seems like the best thing to do.

You try as hard as you can to not feel dejected, but you end up leaving the dining room before anyone else with the excuse that you’re tired from the trip. No one questions you, and you walk to your room feeling abnormally sullen; all you want to do is lie down on the bed and sleep away all of your worries.

Your plan seems like a good idea until you turn around the corner of the hallway where your door is located, and you immediately see Peter sitting cross legged in front of your door, looking down at his hands on his lap. He doesn’t seem to notice you approaching until you’re just feet away from him– and when he turns to the side and finally sees you he stands up faster than a lightning bolt.

“[Y/N].” He says a little breathlessly, swallowing thickly.

“Peter.” You say in a little more suspicious tone, frowning slightly as you cross your arms. You wait for him to say something but he just stands there, looking at you. “What are you doing here?” That question seems to make him snap out of it and he shakes his head, blushing furiously.

_Adorable._

“Uh, yeah, of course. I… I was– I mean– I wanted to ask you if… I mean, only if you’re free– if we could maybe… talk?” He looks half nervous and half terrified, and you’re hit with the sudden urge to reach for him and hold him close to you. You don’t do that, obviously– you simply nod and unlock your door before motioning him to go inside with you.

You lock the door again once you’re both inside and Peter looks around your room, taking everything in.

“So…” You say, trying to get him to talk.

“I guess you already know why I’m here so–”

“I don’t.” You cut him off, sitting down on the chair in front of your desk.

“Oh.” He responds with a small frown, looking taken aback. “I figured that with your power you always–”

“I block it out quite often, it’s overwhelming if I don’t. Besides, contrary to popular belief, knowing what’s going to happen all the time always isn’t fun at all. Sometimes it comes in handy but there are times when I just want things to happen without knowing they’re going to.” You shrug your shoulders and Peter just stares at you for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Okay, so that makes things more difficult then because now I have to actually say it.” He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up before he looks at your bed. “Can I sit?” You nod and he moves faster than you can see, and when your gaze moves to the bed he’s already there. “Okay so… today was nice.” He tries to smile at you but comes out as a grimace, and you wonder where the hell he is going with this. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say what I want to say so… please let me talk and I’ll do my best.”

“Okay.” You answer softly, crossing your legs.

“So… these past few months I have been feeling weird. I mean, I don’t know, I guess things have changed and I wasn’t really ready for that.” You have no idea what on Earth he’s trying to say, but you don’t interrupt him. “Look [Y/N]. I know things in High School were…”

“The fucking worst.” You chime in, crossing your arms. He looks at you for a moment and bites his lip before nodding and looking down again.

“Yeah, the fucking worst. But you’ve been here for almost a year already and I really feel like us starting over is not impossible.” He looks at you expectantly and chews on his thumbnail, clearly expecting a response.

He looks adorable,  _again._

“Yeah, I agree.” You answer honestly. “But the thing is, Peter…” You sigh and look out the window just to avoid eye contact. “It’s still hard for me to get past that. You made everything suck– you made everything  _difficult_ for me.” You look at him again just in time to see him tilting his head to the side and frowning, evaluating you.

“Yeah but… you were awful to me too.” You can’t stop yourself and roll your eyes because  _sure_ , you were mean, but you never did something that truly affected him like he did when he stole your work and forced you to do it all over again.

“Sure, I was.” You answer noncommittally, sighing.

“Are you being serious right now?” He asks with a dry laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh come on, Peter.” You say, uncrossing your arms and standing up– and he does as well.

“No– no. Do you really think you didn’t do anything wrong?” He asks, coming closer to you. You stand your ground and raise your eyebrows.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.  _Never_  presume you do.” You answer, getting more and more irritated by the second.

“You humiliated me constantly– made me feel as if I was less than the dirt in your shoes. Nothing I did affected you like your words tore me apart every single–”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You feel as he just slapped you– and your blood has practically turned into lava. “Did you just say nothing you did affected me?” His jaw clenches but he doesn’t move from his spot.

“I know it didn’t. You always had your homework in time and aced all your tests no matter what I did. But everyone laughed at me. Even after you left they kept laughing at me because of the things you said.” You see his eyes glistening but he refuses to look away. “Do you even know how much that hurt me? I used to lock myself in the bathroom after school to cry–  _fuck!_ ” You know it the second the words leave his mouth– he never wanted to tell you that, and he definitely didn’t want his voice to break mid-sentence as his eyes overflow with tears.

"You really think what you did didn’t affect me?” You ask with no emotion in your voice.

“I know it.” He answers stubbornly, drying his cheeks faster than you can register.

“Do you know how many mornings I went to school having slept only an hour,  _half_  an hour? Countless times covering the dark circles under my eyes with my mom’s makeup because I spent all night doing all my homework again because it had mysteriously disappeared and it was impossible to prove it had been you.”

“[Y/N]–”

“I do wish many things wouldn’t have happened the way they did but I can’t change the past. So yeah, I’m sorry for hurting you, Peter. I _really_ am. I swear I didn’t know I was hurting you that much or I would’ve stopped. But don’t try for even a second to act like you have the moral high ground here, because  _you don’t._ ” You walk towards the door and open it without even looking at him. “Get out.”

“[Y/N], I–” He tries to say but you shake your head. It doesn’t matter what he has to say, it doesn’t matter if he wants to beg your forgiveness, even. You don’t want to see him right now. You expect him to speed out but he walks at a normal speed towards you, and he looks at you for a moment with red eyes before walking out. You close the door the second you’re able to, barely resisting the urge to slam it. You have to remind yourself that you’re not a child; you’re an adult who can’t have temper tantrums.

That night you go to bed feeling hollow inside– wanting to cry but somehow finding yourself unable to do so.

* * *

Peter doesn’t know what to do. His entire world was turned on its axis just moments ago; something he had believed for over a decade turned out to be nothing more than him lying to himself and to top it all, he’s pretty sure your relationship is now damaged beyond repair.

But he just didn’t know– he  _legitimately_  wasn’t aware of the effect his actions had on you. He truly believed that he was just annoying you when he took your homework and notes, not that he was actually affecting your health and well-being.

There is something dark and nasty and dangerous on his chest when he thinks about the fact that he actually caused you  _pain_ – something that he had never felt until now. All his life he had believed that what you had done to him was worse than what he had done to you without a doubt– only to find out today that that wasn’t the case at all.

_He hurt you._

_You didn’t sleep because of him._

_He ruined your teenage years._

No wonder your words were so sharp and you were so ready to wound him, when he did those things to you.

And now you’ve apologized and he hasn’t, and he saw it in your face and heard it in your tone that it was completely sincere– you  _are_  truly sorry. That makes everything worse, because up until that point you have always seemed to be equally bad towards each other but now– now he’s not your equal anymore.

Now, Peter is _below_  you.

* * *

It’s been several weeks already since you and Peter had your little encounter and you can honestly say that the need to know what he was going to end up saying before that conversation went to shit is driving you wild. You have been thinking about it nonstop because sadly, crushes don’t disappear as easily as you would’ve liked and you still feel  _incredibly_ attracted to him.

What bothers you the most about the whole thing is that it could’ve ended up going very well if he hadn’t said that what he did to you wasn’t as bad as what you used to say to him and instead would’ve acknowledged that he messed up just like you did and apologized– but that’s not what happened.

Peter hasn’t reached out to you again, which makes you think he doesn’t agree with you and he doesn’t think that he was in the wrong as well. He doesn’t even  _look_ at you, and he doesn’t look like he’s very affected by the whole thing but then again neither do you– and you  _are_ affected.

The image of his tear filled eyes and his expression right before he exited your room has been popping into your mind constantly since then, and it makes you feel awful. It makes you feel awful that you feel awful, too– because he fucked up and should have apologized as well.

Still, you have been thinking about the things you used to say to him– the way you used to make fun of him when he said something you considered stupid and how everyone laughed with you… and the thought of Peter crying because of you makes you feel sick in the stomach and it makes you wish you could go back in time to stop yourself from being an asshole and maybe find a way for you and him to be friends instead of enemies.

Oh, just the thought of how simpler things would be if you had never been enemies has your mind drifting away, but your daydreaming is interrupted by a loud knock on your bedroom door.

You shake your head and leave your pen on your desk on top of your class plans.

“Coming!” You say, walking to the door. A frown finds home in between your eyes as you see the person in the hallway. “What are you doing here?”

“Please, I need to talk to you. I can’t take it anymore.” Peter begs, hands trembling slightly. You move to the side and allow him to come in.

“So?” You ask, looking at him expectantly once you close the door.

“I’m sorry too.” He blurts out immediately, surprising you. “I’ve been thinking a lot and–” He runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing around your room, nervously, before he stops in front of you. “I didn’t know what I was doing to you when I did the things I used to do in High School. I was sure it was nothing to you because you’ve always been so smart and I really thought you had no problem doing everything again. I thought it was just a small nuisance, that I was only annoying you. I’m sorry for hurting you too, [Y/N].” You analyze him for a moment, processing what he just said.  He seems to be coming from a truly honest place, which is what you wanted.

But still, it feels as is something is missing. Maybe you were a fool for believing things could be truly different between you two, crush or no crush. Maybe you simply weren’t built to be friends.

“I forgive you, Peter. Thank you for apologizing.” He nods and lets out a breath he seemed to be holding before biting his lip.

“Maybe now we could try to be fr–”

“I don’t think so.” You cut him off, and the little smile that had appeared on his face vanishes.

“ _What?_ ” He asks, voice a little hoarse.

“Look, Peter. I appreciate you for apologizing and it really means a lot to me that you did that– but I don’t think you and I were meant to be friends.” Wow, saying that hurts more than you would’ve expected. “I think we can move past this but I don’t think we can ever be more than…  _acquaintances_.” He looks at you with his mouth slightly open, clearly surprised.

“ _Meant to be_?  _You_ are saying meant to be? You, who knows better than anyone that  _nothing_ is meant to be?”  He lets out a dry laugh and throws his head back. “Wow.”

“Peter, please. I’m tired of fighting.” You say with a sigh, rubbing your forehead. He looks out the window, chewing on his bottom lip, before looking at you again.

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t think we were meant to be friends either. But don’t try to call us acquaintances because you know very well we are more than that.” You can  _feel_ him pulling away from you and that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. He walks to your door and looks ready to leave but you refuse to let him go in such a bad note.

“Peter, wait.” You say, reaching forward and grabbing his hand before he can turn the doorknob. He turns immediately and looks at your clasped hands and then to you– and you feel him squeezing your fingers a little more tightly. He doesn’t pull away and you sure as hell aren’t going to either; who knows when you will get a chance to do something like this again– if you ever do. “You’re a good person who does good things for other people, Peter. I’m happy we met again and I got to see the great man you became.”

It’s impossible to deny the tension that fills the air as you and Peter stare at each other– and for you at least there is a warm feeling spreading all over your body since your skin came in contact with his.

“You are too, [Y/N]. It was a privilege to get to know you after all these years.” His voice is a little low, which only adds to the tension of the moment. There is a second where you feel him pressing a kiss to your cheek and it’s slow enough for you to notice, but too fast for you to react. He lets go of your hand and opens the door, looking back at you one last time with an expression you can’t quite make out but that looks like sadness and confusion– and then he’s gone.

And while you stare at the closed door and feel the emptiness of your room, you can’t help but think that you just made a  _terrible_  mistake.

* * *

As Peter lies on his bed that night, his fingers are still tracing his lips where they made contact with your cheek. Doing so makes him feel nervous and excited and weird, but just remembering the feeling of your skin against them has his mind wandering off again into his wildest fantasies.

At least he apologized.

It may have taken him weeks to do so but that’s the amount of time he needed to control himself enough to not blurt out everything he feels for you, and even though things didn’t work out the way he wanted them to at least you forgave him and now you can both finally move on. Or something like that.

He tried flirting with girls he met whenever he went out but it simply doesn’t feel right– it feels as if he’s somehow  _betraying_ you, even though you’ve made it quite clear you want nothing to do with him. Part of him wishes he could have your power for just a few seconds so he could see if it’s really impossible for you to be friends or maybe even something else–

No. He can’t think like that. Knowing the future won’t help him because he’s not you, he probably wouldn’t know what to do with the information if he ever had it. He has an important mission tomorrow and he can’t let himself lose his head over this.

The only thing he can do now is let it go and hope for the best.

* * *

Peter is the first person in the team to notice you in the hangar. It wouldn’t have been a red flag to see you there except for the fact that you looked like you’d run to get there; hair messy and unkempt and slightly rumpled clothes are a clear sign that something is wrong.

And then, well– then there’s your eyes. They look so clear that they almost seem white, and it makes you look  _frightening_.

“Vhat is happening to zhe Professor? Vhy is she standing zhere like zhat?” Kurt asks from behind Peter, frowning deeply. That catches the attention of the others, who walk towards the doors of the plane to see for themselves. Peter had known something was up, but it isn’t until he sees Hank’s face losing its color that he realizes it’s worse than he’d thought.

“Kurt, take me there.” Hank says quickly– and Peter doesn’t miss that there is a certain edge on his tone of voice.

Yes, this is  _definitely_  worse than he’d thought.

He is in front of you before Kurt and Hank have even moved from the plane, and he has more than enough time to inspect you thoroughly.

Your pupils are completely gone– instead your eyes are a very clear tone of light blue, and they are unfocused and watery, as if you are about to start crying. There is a light bead of sweat forming on your forehead, and on a closer inspection to your face, Peter sees that your mouth is moving slowly.

That isn’t normal– the only way he’d notice your mouth moving slowly at this speed means that you are talking  _impossibly_  fast.

The world returns to its normal pace and he hears the peculiar sound of Kurt’s teleportation behind him, and Hank quickly moves him away from his place in front of you.

“[Y/N]?” He tries, but you don’t answer. Your face turns towards Peter and your eyes  _somehow_  focus on his. You are saying something, but you’re talking so fast and in such a low voice that it’s impossible to make it out. “[Y/N].” Hank tries again, trying to turn your face towards him. He can’t, which comes as a surprise for Peter. Your head looks like it’s locked in place, directed at him.

“What’s going on?” Jean asks, sprinting towards them with Scott right behind her.

Hank doesn’t answer– instead he takes his gloves off and places his palm on your forehead. He hisses in pain and removes it almost instantly, looking down at it.

“She’s burning.” He murmurs in disbelief. Peter can’t do anything but stare at you, trapped in your penetrating gaze.

“Why is she looking at me?” He manages to ask, voice raspy like he hadn’t used it in a long time.

“She’s having a vision.” Hank explains quickly. “She told me and Charles about them. She said she hadn’t gotten any in years. I don’t know what caused it or what she’s seeing, all I know it’s that they’re draining and extremely dangerous for her health. She’s having a fever.”

“Can I, maybe…?” Jean offers, pointing two fingers to her temple.

“Jean–” Hank says, unsure. “I don’t know if you can take what goes on inside her mind.” Jean looks doubtful for a moment before she nods.

“I have to try.”

Hank moves away so Jean can see you more clearly, and Peter swallows the lump in his throat. This whole situation feels too eerie for him– and the fact that you’re looking at him instead of anyone else is, quite frankly,  _terrifying._

He finally looks away from you and focuses on Jean instead, thinking that maybe if he ignores the matter he will be less nervous.

It doesn’t work.

Jean takes a deep breath and brings her two fingers towards her temple again, and her eyes narrow in concentration. Peter is staring attentively– which is why he could be able to pinpoint the exact second he realized this plan wasn’t going well.

Jean’s expression turns from focused into pained, and she screams and drops to the floor on her knees.

“Jean!” Scott yells, immediately rushing to her aid. She falls back into him but the determined look on her eye tells Peter and the rest that she’s  _not_  going to stop.

Peter looks at Hank and then Kurt, but they are only looking at her with worried expressions– and then he turns slowly to you again.

You’re still staring at him– still saying something no one understands. He’s overcome by something inside of him that tells him that this is wrong, this has to stop, it’s not okay that this thing is happening to you when it’s something that hurts you. He wants it to stop, he wants you go back to normal and ignore him again and not be like this anymore.

Seeing you hurt hurts Peter too–  _deeply_. And he knows the reason why.

Jean removes her fingers from her temple and gasps, trembling. Her entire body shakes as Scott holds her close to him, and she dries a few tears that rolled down her cheeks when she blinked.

“What happened? What did you see?” Peter asks before anyone else has a chance, and the clear desperation in his tone surprises him. Jean looks at him with dark eyes and swallows before answering.

“You can’t come with us today.” She breathes out, avoiding the question.

“What? Why?” Peter asks, confused.

“Peter, listen to me. You can’t come today.”

“Why? What did you see?” He asks, turning towards you only to find you exactly as you have been for the past minutes.

“Your death.” Jean replies somberly. Everyone but you looks at her with stunned expressions. “I saw your death. It happens today if you come, she’s here to stop you from going with us.” Scott helps her get up again as she says this, but Peter is so lost in his own mind he completely erases what’s going on around him.

It’s only him and you now as the world once again slows down around him, and he moves closer to you until he’s right in front if you.

This thing that is happening to you– this thing that is  _hurting_ you, according to Hank– happened because of him.

You’re  _suffering_ because you had to save him.

“What are you doing to me?” He asks to no one. He  _truly_  wants to know, because it’s still hard for him to understand the countless emotions you create inside of him.

He knows that months before he wouldn’t have cared as much about your well-being as he does now– and it’s not only that, but also the fact that there is a painful pressure on his chest that makes it hard to breathe that has been there since Hank said that what is happening to you is dangerous.

And it’s happening  _because of him._

Not directly, of course, but you’re here in front of him, suffering, so you can save  _his_ life.

Maybe he  _should_  be feeling differently– maybe the fact that he’s been just told that if he goes he’s going to die should elicit a bigger reaction from him, but for some reason he doesn’t care as much about his own death. He only wants  _you_ to go back to the way you were before. He wants you to be okay again and then he’ll deal with everything else. Maybe it’s the shock, but he simply doesn’t seem to find the will to care more about himself than you right now. He goes back to his previous spot and everyone around him starts moving again.

“I won’t go, then.” He says resolutely to Jean, but he’s looking at you instead.

The change he sees in you is so immediate that it almost feels like a magic trick. Your mouth stops moving and your eyes return to their normal color– and Peter would swear he sees a spark of recognition in them before they roll to the back of your head and your body begins to fall backwards.

You’re safe in his arms before anyone has a chance to react, and the feeling of  _rightness_ that settles on Peter’s chest when he feels your warmth radiating towards him scares him to death. 

He’s  _never_  felt something like that before.

“Oh, God.” Jean says, taking a deep breath.

“Vhat vas that?” Kurt asks worriedly, swallowing thickly. “Is zhe Professor going to be okay?” Hank places his open palm against your forehead and sighs in relief, making Peter feel a little better.

“Her temperature is lowering. I should stay and monitor–” Peter shakes his head.

“You have to go. I’m the only one who has to stay. I’ll make sure she gets taken care of.” He argues, and for a moment he thinks Hank is going to say no– but ultimately he nods and takes a deep breath before he makes his way back towards the plane.

* * *

“Ugh…” You groan, feeling the soreness in your  _entire_ body. This is something you haven’t felt in years, and it takes you back to a time in your life you always try to forget.

You hear what sounds like a relieved breath from your right, and when you turn towards the sound you realize you’re not alone. Peter is sitting in the chair next to you,  _safe and sound._

“You’re alive.” You say, choking up. “I didn’t know if I–” You can’t end the sentence because it’s too hard. Talking about that kind of visions always has been.

“I’m so sorry.” Peter says, burying his face on his hands.

“What?” You ask, confused. Maybe he’s sorry because of how awful the visions are.

“My apology sucked. I should’ve said more but you forgave me anyway.” Oh. He wants to go back to the last conversation you had right now.

“Peter, it was perfectly fine–” You try to stop him, but he shakes his head and lifts his hand up. When he looks at you again, you notice his eyes are glazed over and the tip of his nose is red.

“Could this…” His voice breaks and you sigh. “Can these visions… _kill you?_ ” You see that it’s almost physically hard for him to say those words.

“Peter…”

“Please, answer.” You turn your head towards the other side of the room and a tear rolls down your cheek before you wipe it away angrily. You _hate_  that this makes you cry every time– that the memories of what you had to endure the first year after you got your powers still affect you like this.

“Yes.” You answer curtly, pursing your lips to stop them from trembling. You hate this– hate yourself for not being able to stop the tears and being like this right now in front of  _him_ , no less.

“Saving me could have cost you your life?” He asks in a slightly high pitched voice that you know comes from the fact that he’s crying. You don’t really understand why he’s crying too, but your safest guess is that the shock of knowing he was going to die finally faded and he has to deal with the strong emotions that knowledge has created in him.

“I didn’t  _decide_  to have that vision, Peter. I haven’t got one since I was eighteen. I can’t control them.” You turn towards him again and he’s just staring at you, biting his lip. You sigh because you recognize the look in his eye– he wants to know more. Considering that you just had a vision of him dying and he’s probably terrified, you owe him at least that. “I remember bits and pieces… both of the vision and what happened to me while I was having it. I don’t really have control of myself when I’m having one. I just–” That’s enough. You can’t talk more about this because more means relieving the past and you can’t do that again, especially not with him. “It’s not nice. Please, don’t ask me more.”

“What if you died and I never apologized like I should have about High School? What if you were gone and I had never been truly honest about those years?” He lets out a dry laugh and shakes his head before looking away. “You’re here, hurt after putting yourself in danger to save my life and I somehow make it all about me.”  He stays silent for a few moments and you do too, mostly because you have nothing to say to him. “When you left… there was this…  _hole_  inside of me that couldn’t be filled with anything. And that makes me such a bad person.” You frown, and Peter looks like he’s lost in his thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, trying to find answers on his face, but coming up empty.

“I was awful to you… and you were to me too but… it wasn’t the same. When I felt you weren’t paying attention to me anymore I could’ve stayed in my place and let things be peaceful between us but instead I  _always_  did something to piss you off so you would retaliate.” He shakes his head and dries a tear that escapes his eye. “I think I didn’t see it at the moment but I  _loved_ that thing we had– the fights, when you got angry at me…” His eyes are red when he looks at you again. “I’m a fucking freak. Who likes that kind of thing?” He says with a self-deprecating laugh and you don’t understand the sudden urge you get to hug him and hold him close to you.

Is it the vulnerability he’s showing, because it’s something you’ve never seen before? You don’t know, but you want to see him laughing again, not crying. It feels too wrong for him to be in pain, and knowing that in High School you were responsible for making him cry feels like a cold knife slicing through you. It angers you at the same time, because he just admitted that he liked making you angry when you were younger– and that’s something that ruined your teenage years.

“Peter, it’s fine. I can see you’re truly sorry and that’s all I need. I really forgave you. I hope you forgave me too.”

“Of course I did.” He answers, sniffling softly.

“Then let’s put that behind us once and for all– where it should be.” You smile and he returns it before his bottom lip trembles and tears continue rolling down his face.

“I’m sorry– today was really scary.”  He says with a shaky laugh as he dries his cheeks.

“How long was I out?” You ask, struggling to sit up. Peter is next to you helping you before your eyes can register his movements, and you smile gratefully at him. He lifts up your pillows and the next thing you know, his face is only inches away from yours.

Neither of you move. You don’t know about Peter– but you simply can’t. All of a sudden you feel  _nervous_ and  _excited_  and you have the unstoppable urge to close the distance between his lips and yours– and you don’t think you’ll be able to stop yourself this time.

* * *

Peter knows that what for you is a couple of seconds is going to be so much more for him, but he can’t bring himself to care about that.

Have your eyes always made him want to look at them for hours? Has your hair always smelled this nice and have your lips always looked this kissable?   
  
He might as well accept it now completely, since he already realized what was going on with him when he was waiting for you to regain consciousness.

He no longer just  _likes_  you– he’s _in love_  withyou, and only now he realizes this is a feeling that has been cooking inside of him since he was a teenager.

But what kind of person does the things he did to you to another because they like them? That’s just awful behavior, and he doesn’t deserve you at all. It’s just that you look so pretty all the time and he really,  _really_ , wants to kiss you right now and find out what your mouth tastes like.

He bets it tastes like heaven.

He bets you feel like heaven.

He bets you  _are_  heaven.

Time goes back to normal as he decides what he’s going to do; he’s going to let you do whatever you want. Whatever you decide, he’s going to follow you.

But God, he wants to beg to whoever is listening for you to feel the same about him.

* * *

You couldn’t help it– your mind wandered off on its own and you accidentally saw what could happen in the next few moments.

It wasn’t your fault per se, you simply felt a little too nervous and your mind tried to help you ease that nervousness by showing you every possible outcome of this situation.

“Sometimes seeing the future isn’t that nice.” You whisper, and Peter visibly swallows.

“Why is that?” He asks, leaning a little closer.

“Because it takes away the surprise of moments like this.” And just like that, you close the distance between you and  _kiss him._

It’s fireworks and magic and every little thing romantic comedies say a kiss is supposed to be; it’s years of pent up unresolved tension between the two of you being released in one single moment of two pairs of lips connecting.

It’s  _perfect_ , just like you knew it was going to be.

* * *

Peter didn’t mean to start whimpering, but kissing you is so beautiful and incredible that he simply can’t stop himself. He didn’t mean to start crying, either– that was the emotions of the day catching up to him again, and it was impossible to hold them back because kissing you is flawless, wonderful, cathartic, and the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He knows it’s _way_  too soon to tell you how he feels about you, but everything has always moved so fast for him when everything else moves so slow for everyone else that he can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“I’m so in love with you.” He mumbles against your lips, and he regrets it the moment the last word comes out. He’s in the corner of the room– far away from you– before you even realize you’re not kissing anymore.

You open your eyes and look at him with a confused frown, like you’re waiting for him to say something else–  _do_  something else.

 _What_  is he supposed to do? He just confessed to you after you kissed for less than a minute that he’s _in love_  with you– the only thing he should do is leave this room immediately.

You roll your eyes at him and move to the side of the bed, crossing your arms.

“I know you’re in love with me. I just told you I saw this happening.” You say, as if it should have been obvious.

“You’re not mad at me?” Peter asks in a small voice, breathing heavily.

“Come here.” You say, patting the empty side of the bed you just created. Peter’s heart feels like it’s swelling just because of that small gesture, which makes him wonder what’s going to happen to him if you do something more thoughtful for him at some point. 

Maybe he’ll spontaneously combust. 

Yeah, that makes sense.

He’s lying next to you with his head on your shoulder before you register what happened, and a surprised laugh leaves your lips once he’s back to the normal speed of time.

Peter loves that sound.

“Is this okay?” He asks for confirmation, removing his head from your shoulder. You nod and he leans into you once again. Your arm wraps around him and your hand goes to his hair, caressing it softly. He sighs in pleasure and turns his face so he can hide it on your shoulder– and then he places one of his arms above your waist on top of the sheets, and his leg finds its home with yours underneath it.

“You’re cuddly.” You say, kissing his temple. The small sign of affection has him shuddering. Yes, he _is_  a person who enjoys cuddling and yes, he is  _extremely_  needy and adores physical contact.

“Is that bad?” He asks, unsure of himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so bold, invading your personal space–

“I love it.” A heavy weight is removed from his shoulders and Peter feels _instant_ relief.

“I–” What on Earth is he thinking? He can’t tell you that he loves you– you’re not even in a relationship and he’s ready to tell you all his fears and doubts and dreams and  _what is going on with him?_

“You love me.” You say, caressing his hair softly. “I know.”

“I’m sorry, I just–” He bites his lip and thinks about what he’s going to say for some time, but for you it’s only a second. “Maybe I’ve always had feelings for you. Maybe that’s why I’ve never–” He once again takes some time to muster up the courage to speak, but to you is unnoticeable. “I haven’t had a serious girlfriend… ever. In High School it took me almost a year to stop bringing you up whenever I could. Maybe my friends knew… they just didn’t say anything. Wanda knew, at least.”

“Knew what?”

“That what I felt was more than  _hatred_ … that it was something else.”  He grabs your free hand and starts playing with your fingers. “I think… I don’t want this to sound like I’m justifying myself,  _it’s not that_. But… my father abandoned my mother without ever knowing she was pregnant… and the boyfriends she’s had were always awful. Maybe that’s why I was like that. Maybe I didn’t know how I was supposed to love someone.” There are tears wetting his cheeks again but at least he’s not sobbing openly– they just roll down by themselves.

You pull your hand from his and bring his to his face, where you place it on his cheek. You caress his skin with your thumb before pulling him towards you for your second kiss.

Peter knows he can’t move faster than you do because it will ruin the kiss, and containing himself from doing so makes him feel a very pleasurable kind of discomfort he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him, because _of course_  you do. Of course you have the moral high ground and of course you’ll tell him everything is fine and kiss him will doing so– without thinking about the things he did to you in the past.

“I’m sorry I said I’m in love with you after our first kiss.” He apologizes when you pull away. He rests his head on the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and once again his hand finds yours so he can continue playing with it.

“It’s okay, I promise. I knew that was going to happen.”

“Do you know what will happen after this?” You shake your head.

“I told you I try to tune it out as much as possible. It’s not very nice to know the outcome to everything that goes on in my life. Especially if it’s something like this.”

“And how is… something like this?” He pries.

“So special.” You reply with a smile, interlocking his fingers with yours. Peter feels he’s soaring through the skies– like nothing bad can happen to him right now.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, snuggling closer to you, reveling in the feeling of your hand on his hair.

“I don’t need to see the future to know you’re going to.”

“Fuck, I love it when you sass me.” He says with a groan before kissing you again. You laugh into the kiss and tighten the grip you have on his hair, making him moan in pleasure. That sends a jolt of electricity straight to his groin, and his hips thrust into your leg involuntarily. “Forget about the question, I don’t care anymore.” 

“Oh, dear. Someone is happy to see me.” You joke, laughing softly. Peter pulls back in embarrassment and looks at you for any signs of discomfort or anything that will tell him he needs to back away– but he finds none of that.

“You’re in pain, I don’t want–” You roll your eyes.

“I feel better already and I’m lying down anyway, aren’t I?”

“I suppose…” He answers and gasps in surprise when you reach forward and grab the back of his thigh and pull him over you so he’s straddling your waist.

“It’s fine.” You confirm, giving him a smile that makes his knees go weak. You grab the side of his face and pull his face down towards you so you can join your lips again. He’s completely hard already– and that makes him feel a little anxious. What are you going to say when you realize he’s never–

“[Y/N], wait.” He stops you, pulling away. His face is hovering over yours and it would be so wonderful to just give into everything you’re both feeling but he simply can’t– because he doesn’t know how to. “I haven’t–” You frown and tilt your head to the side just a little, but Peter practically melts at how adorable it makes you look.

This is harder than he’d ever imagined it was going to be– and he’s imagined it  _many_ times.

“What’s wrong? Did I push you too hard? I’m sorry if I did.” He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’ve never… been with anyone  _like this._  Or more than this. I– I’m a–” Peter hadn’t known how hard it was going to be to say it out loud, how embarrassed it was going to make him feel. He keeps his eyes shut because he  _can’t_  look into your eyes right now and find something that will hurt him– he won’t be able to take it. “I’m a virgin.”

Before you have a chance to say something, Peter hears the sound of the door being opened and he’s off the bed before you realize something happened.

* * *

The door of the room opens and you see Hank coming inside, but you don’t really care about that. What you care about is the fact that Peter is nowhere to be seen; you are completely alone inside the room.

“Hey, [Y/N]. How are you feeling?” He asks kindly, walking towards you with a file in his hands.

 _Not good._  You’re not good at all. Your skin feels like it’s burning and you can still feel the taste of Peter’s mouth on yours– but he disappeared before you had a chance to reply to his confession.

“I’m good, just a little sore is all.” You say with a smile, trying as best as you can to hide your true feelings from Hank.

“Well, that’s good. The soreness comes from your muscles being tensed up the entire time you had the vision, nothing else. Your vitals are strong and you’re free to go if you want to rest in your own bed instead of this one. If you want to go now, Kurt is outside the door ready to take you there. I took the liberty of showing him your room so he could take you.” You sigh in relief and nod.

“That’s fantastic, Hank. Thank you so much.” You take the covers off of yourself and he quickly moves to help you get on your feet. You put your shoes back on and only once he’s sure you can stand on your own he lets you go.

“I’ll go get Kurt. I’ll be right back.” You nod with a grateful smile and he walks out the door, leaving you alone again.

You don’t want to get angry at Peter for abandoning you without talking to him first, but it’s so hard to stop yourself from doing so when being angry at him used to come as a second nature to you in the past.

Hank returns with Kurt in tow, looking down at the floor shyly. You can’t help but smile because that boy is so sweet he simply melts your heart.

“Hello, Kurt.” You greet him, smiling encouragingly. He looks up at you and gives you a smile of his own– albeit his is a little bit more nervous. “Are you ready?” He nods and walks up to you, offering you his arm.

“You just have to grab my arm, Miss [Y/N].” He says and you do as told. “Tell me vhen you are ready.”  You look at Hank and smile at him one last time.

“Thank you for your help.” He nods once and you turn to Kurt again.

“I’m ready.” The next thing you know, you’re standing in the middle of your room, feeling a little confused and out of place. You let go of Kurt’s arm and take a deep breath, shaking your head. “Wow.” You say taking a deep breath. “Your mutation is more amazing than I’d thought.”  Kurt’s smile lights up his face but it quickly disappears. “Hey, are you alright?” You ask, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It is just zhat… I vas very vorried about you. Hank said zhat zhose kind of visions vere very dangerous and I vas scared you vere hurt.” Your heart swells because you’ve  _never_  met a person sweeter than Kurt, and even if you’re not supposed to say things like this, he’s  _definitely_ your favorite.

“Oh, Kurt.” You say, smiling softly. “I’m okay, I promise. You have nothing to worry about.” He nods but you can still sense his uneasiness, so you open your arms and he hugs you immediately. He latched onto you some time ago, and now it feels like you’re some sort of aunt to him. He’s such a wonderful person, and it breaks your heart to know he’s had such a difficult life.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, drying a tear as he pulls away. “I vas very scared.” You squeeze his shoulder and he sniffles. “I’ll leave you to rest, Professor.” He smiles at you and although his eyes are still watery, it seems genuine.

“Thank you for your help, Kurt.” He nods and a moment later a puff of black smoke is the only thing that proves he was in front if you just seconds before.

You walk towards your bed trying to not grimace and pull back the covers before getting in. You only take your shoes and pants off and before you know it, you’re already asleep again.

* * *

You wake up four hours later, according to the clock on your bedside table. You feel a little sore still, but at least you can move around without trouble now.

You get up and take a quick shower– where the warm water finally eases whatever is left of the pain in your muscles. You emerge from the shower feeling well rested and ready to go and speak with Charles about what just happened.

You are lucky you remember so very little of it, because there is a bit that showed you Jean in pain after reading your mind– and even though you are more capable than her to handle what happens inside your brain– that doesn’t negate the fact that the visions are always too much for you.

You remember Peter dead on the ground, eyes unseeing and a huge red spot on his abdomen. You remember the others screaming and crying and Jean surrounded by what it seemed like fire but  _not_  at the same time.

You remember seeing his funeral.

You quickly shake your head and open the bathroom door only to find something you know hadn’t been there when you left the room.

There is at least ten white papers on the floor by the door– seemingly there because someone slid them under it.

You walk towards them and see that almost all of them have numbers on them– except one. And 1 seems to be the only number not written on any of them, so you start with it.

_Can we talk? This is Peter._

That’s it, only those six words and nothing else. You roll your eyes and grab the second one.

_That wasn’t nice, I’m sorry. I should’ve written a little more, right? I’m sorry I left you. Please talk to me._

Well, that’s a little better. A smile curls up the corners of your lips as you grab the third one.

_Are you okay? I’m really worried and I’m sorry I left you, even though I said that already.  
Please talk to me. I need you._

The last sentence makes a warm feeling settle on your stomach, and you quickly grab the other one.

_Are you angry? Because you should be. I am a bad person._

Next one.

_I don’t deserve you._

Next one.

_I never felt the way I feel about you about anyone else._

Next one.

_I need to talk to you about what happened._

Next one.

_Do you hate me for leaving you alone? I understand if you do._

Next one.

_I’m sorry for being so annoying. You probably hate that I’m doing this. I’m sorry, I’ll stop now._

There are only two left.

_Please let me at least tell you why I left. I promise I’ll leave you alone after that._

Last one.

 _I love you._  
I really do.  
I’m sorry.

Only when you sniffle you realize you’re crying– and you don’t even know why. It’s not sadness, or happiness, it’s mostly  _worry_ about Peter. You don’t know how much time passed for him between notes but the way it escalates into him thinking you hate him and that he’s lost whatever chance he had with you makes you feel concerned about the way he sees his relationships with people.  _Of course_  you were going to talk to him– there was no question about that. You needed to talk about what had happened and where you stood in regards of your relationship– or whatever it was. It’s just that how he went so quickly to assume that everything was lost makes you feel worried about him.

You get ready as fast as you can and when you open your door to go and try to find Peter, a startled scream leaves your mouth as said man appears in front of you.

“I’m so sorry.” He apologizes, eyes wide and scared. You clutch your chest with one hand and wave him off with the other, before moving to the side to let him in. He disappears from the doorway and appears in front of your bed– one of his notes in his hands. You close the door and turn to him completely, where you see him now sitting down on top of your mattress looking down at his fidgeting hands.

“Why did you disappear on me like that?” You ask, cutting straight to the point. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and then he’s gone from the bed and looking out the window.

“It’s going to rain.” He comments in a detached tone, avoiding your question. You don’t press him, you just wait patiently for him to be ready.

He traces the space where the glasses of your window join together with his finger absentmindedly before a sigh leaves his mouth.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave.” He says in a low voice, still looking out the window. “I was going to sit again on the chair and pretend I was reading a magazine or something, until Hank left us alone again.” A dry laugh leaves his lips and you walk silently towards him, until you sit down on a chair not too far away from where he stands. “But then I saw your surprised face… and I was terrified of what you were going to say.”

“Why?” You pry, resting your elbow on the arm of the chair and your chin on your closed fist. Peter is on his knees in front of you now, an intensity that you’d never seen in him clouding his eyes. You gasp, startled by his sudden appearance, and the next thing you know your knees are spread so he can settle in between them.

“Because you’re  _you_ and I’m  _me_. Because you are one of Harvard’s best Professors and I’m a virgin who lived in his mother’s basement until only months ago. I can’t blame you for not wanting me, I’m a worthless loser.”

“Baby, come here.” You coo, grabbing his face and pulling him up towards you as you lean down. He’s surprised by the term of endearment, you can tell, and he swallows visibly as his brow furrows and his eyes glisten. You press a soft, reassuring kiss on his lips and his hands slide up your thighs until his arms are around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your legs are spread to accommodate his body, and the intimacy of the action is turning you on immensely. As you pull away you hear the soft splatter of a few raindrops against the window, which quickly turns into a raging rainstorm that has the wind howling and the skies darkening to the point of almost seeming as if it’s already nighttime.

“Do you still want me?” Peter asks in a whisper, searching for something in your eyes.

Reassurance, you assume, based on the vulnerability he’s showing.

“Of course I do, Peter. And you’re not worthless, at all. Do I need to remind you of the dozens of people who are alive today because of you? There is no other reason. They are alive because _you_  were there to save them all. You’re wonderful, and a hero. Don’t doubt it for a second.”

“Thank you.” Peter says in a whisper that sounds a lot like a needy whine, and when he starts nuzzling your neck and his hands ball into fists clenching your shirt behind your back you know why.

He’s hard. 

He  _has_  to be– at least half hard– because his hips are thrusting into the empty air as you hold him against you.

“You okay, babe?” You ask out loud, and he nods against your skin as his tongue darts out and he starts licking the spot where your collarbone is. The rain falls a little more heavily and you hear a low thunder before the lights go out in your room– and the rest of the mansion as well, if you have to guess. Peter pulls away from you and looks around, frowning slightly.

“The power is out.” He says, and you nod before motioning him to move so you can stand up. He sits back on his heels and looks up at you as you stand, before you take his hands and help him out. He contains himself only for a couple of seconds– at least for you, because time moves differently for him– before he’s leaning forward and capturing your mouth with his.

He’s  _extremely_  needy when he kisses you– he whimpers and whines and hates it if you pull away, and loves it if you hold him as close to you as possible. You feel his erection against your thigh and it only adds to the fire already burning inside of you, but you know you can’t just get naked and have sex as you would’ve done if this was some other man.

Because Peter  _isn’t_  some other man. Peter is Peter– he’s wonderful and special and he’s never done anything like this before, so it’s your duty to protect him and make sure it’s a good experience he enjoys as much as humanly possible.

“Come with me to the bed. Let’s lie down together.” He nods and your fingers are intertwined as you pull him with you. As you let go of his hand there is suddenly a lit candle on your bedside table that illuminates you both and the room a little better.

“Can I rest on top of you? Your heartbeat makes everything go slower for me.” He doesn’t even seem to realize how sweet what he just said is– and you are at loss of words to answer, so you just nod and open your arms for him once you’re settled. He climbs to the bed at a normal speed but before his body makes contact with yours his gaze travels down to his groin, where the outline of his erection is clear for you to see even in the dim light of the room.

“Come here.” You insist, and he settles on top of you with your thigh in between his legs. He’s hard as a rock– you can feel it. His ear is pressed to your chest and he closes his eyes, leaning further into you. You wrap your arms around him and start caressing his hair while you wait for him to say something.

“I’m sorry I’m a mess. I don’t know if you can understand it but I have been thinking about everything that happened today for a long, long time already. I’m sorry I already said I loved you– it’s just that before you woke up I spent a lot of time thinking about you and us and what you meant for me. You were out for five hours after the vision and then another five passed until you let me inside here and… that’s a lot of time for me.” He scratches the skin of your collarbone with his pointer finger absent-mindedly as he tells you this. “I just want you to know that I don’t expect you to move at the same pace I do. I would never want that.”  He looks up at you as he says that, as if he wants to make sure you know he’s being honest.

“I’m okay with the fact that you move at a faster pace than me, Peter. You need to understand that.”

“I know that…” He says, tracing your arm from your shoulder until his fingers find yours and he can interlock them together. He doesn’t sound convinced, so you bring your joined hands to your mouth and kiss his knuckles softly. A low, satisfied sound rumbles in his throat and you smile before placing a kiss on top of his silver hair.

The rain continues falling outside your window and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop any time soon, and you honestly don’t mind at all. Snuggling with Peter while it’s raining feels incredibly wonderful and it already became one of your favorite things to do– except for the fact that you are turned on and Peter’s hard cock against your leg is a constant reminder that he is too.

But no– you simply can’t do  _that_  yet.

“I love your hair.” You compliment, trying to get your mind off of the fact that you want to fuck his brains out.

Or make sweet love instead– yeah, that would be better.

“I love yours too.” He answers, smiling against your skin. “And it smells great.” A giggle escapes your mouth but it’s cut off by Peter’s lips on yours. He’s straddling you now– exactly like earlier today. He inclines his torso forward as his knees spread a little wider, and before you know it he’s thrusting his hips into yours. You can’t stop yourself from moaning into the kiss because it feels too good– it feels so good that you simply have to stop him.

“Peter, wait.” You mumble against his lips and he pulls away with a soft smack.

“What?” He asks, and you curse yourself when you notice the self-consciousness etched on his expression.

“We can’t go any further.” His brow furrows and his eyes fill with tears, and he’s off of you in an instant. You squint your eyes and look around the room, and you find him sitting in a corner, knees drawn up to his chest as he tries to make himself as small as possible.

You jump off the bed and run towards him– kneeling in front of him as soon as you can.

“Peter, baby. Look at me.” He does and his cheeks look raw– they’re completely red and his eyes are puffy and bloodshot as if he’d been crying for hours already.

Oh,  _no._

“I knew you couldn’t really like me…” He says in the most broken voice you’ve heard, and your heart feels like it’s being squeezed.

“No, baby, no.” You say, pulling him towards you. He doesn’t resist– he just settles between your legs and leans into you as he sobs and trembles. “Of course I like you, darling. I said that because I want your first time to be as perfect as possible, and I want us to familiarize with each other more before that.”

“Really?”

“I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die and everything.” You smile and he laughs before hiding his face into your neck. You hold him as close to you as you can while you wait for him to calm down completely– but there is something that is worrying you tremendously. “Peter… how much time passed from the moment you left the bed to when I reached you? Think about the way I experience time– of some sort of equivalent of the normal hours. How long were you here alone without me?” He tenses up and you know the answer isn’t going to be good.

“[Y/N]… that doesn’t matter.” Peter tries to pull away but you hold him a little tighter– and he surrenders immediately, leaning again into you.

“Tell me.” You insist, voice strong.

“It was– probably– what for you would be… two hours, maybe.” You gasp and your grip you have on him tightens.

“Baby…” You say, and you know you’re about to start crying. “You can’t pull away from me like that again. We have to talk about things if you feel scared or insecure, okay? I can’t believe you cried all alone for that long–” That’s all you can say before your voice breaks completely and tears start streaming down your cheeks.

It’s not only because of what just happened that you’re crying, even though it certainly was the catalyst. You’re crying because if you hadn’t been in the school today Peter would be dead right now; you’re crying because the vision brought back awful memories that have been haunting you for years; you’re crying because being intimate with Peter Maximoff was something you would have never believed could happen, and yet here you are, holding him in your arms.

* * *

You seem perfectly still as Peter maneuvers himself and you so you can sit on his lap and he can hold you more comfortably– because that’s the least he can do for you. He doesn’t know how to do this– how to communicate properly with a person he cares about, how to talk about his feelings, and he definitely doesn’t know how to accept that something good is happening to him.

Peter’s abandonment issues have always been something that has affected every single relationship he’s had– whether it was romantic or friendly. The fact that he’s always felt he wasn’t good enough to have a father who loved him is such a core part of his personality that he doesn’t seem to know how he would be able to function without it.

He knows his jokes and self-deprecating humor are defense mechanisms to stop himself from showing too much to someone who’s probably going to leave anyway– because what reason do they have to stay? He doesn’t have a lot to offer, he doesn’t know how to talk seriously about what he feels.

But then there’s _you._

He doesn’t know how or why or if it has something to do with the fact that he knew you for such a long time before you left his life– but with you it feels like a dam has been opened and everything comes flooding out of him. He tells you whatever you want him to and it feels so wonderful to be able to do so that it’s almost orgasmic.

Whatever it is that stops him from being able to communicate his feelings with others– with you _it disappears._  He wants to tell you  _everything,_  wants you to know him like no one has ever known him. 

He wants you to love him as much as he loves you.

He knows it’s dangerous to say he loves you because maybe he should’ve waited a little longer to get to know the parts of yourself he hasn’t seen yet– but the truth is that he  _does_ love you already. He’s head over heels in love with you, and it’s the most beautiful, painful, pleasurable feeling in the world.

You gasp in surprise when you realize you’re on his lap, and you look at him for a moment before crashing your lips to his.

Peter gets hard immediately– as he usually does. Your tongue controls his as his hips jerk upwards on their own accord, desperate to feel some sweet friction and get some relief.

He understands why you want him to wait and he really appreciates it and loves you for being so considerate– but at the same time he just wants to get thoroughly fucked until he can’t even form a coherent sentence.

And then he wants to get made sweet love to– he wants you on top of him with your fingers intertwined as you guide his hands over his head and hold them there in place, kissing his lips and his neck as he slides in and out of you, in and out.

But enough of that– he has to make sure you’re okay now. Your kisses are desperate, which  _probably_  means you’re worried about him.

 _How_ could he not be in love with you?

“I’m sorry.” Peter apologizes against your lips. “I’m not good at communicating. But I’ll try harder and I’ll talk to you if I don’t feel okay.” You rest your forehead against his and nod, one hand burying itself on the hair at the nape of his neck. A whimper leaves his lips as you massage his scalp, and he feels the familiar sensation of his impending orgasm.

“Promise?” You ask, lips barely brushing his.

“Promise.” You kiss him again and he simply can’t hold back. “I’m going to come.” He warns you, using all his strength to hold himself back.

“Then do it, baby.” You whisper. “Fill up your pants for me.” That’s his undoing– he explodes inside his boxers while you nibble his neck, and he  _knows_ that he’s never had a better orgasm in his entire life.

“I’m sorry, I come a lot.” He manages to say, words slurring. “I should probably clean up.” You kiss his lips softly before climbing off of him and helping him up. You lead him to the bathroom and close the door, giving him privacy he isn’t interested in having.

* * *

When you turn around after closing the bathroom door you see that Peter is lying on your bed already, wearing a pair of your sweatpants. He’s face down, head resting on your pillow. You turn around and notice that the door of the bathroom is open again, and it makes you roll your eyes.

“I didn’t go through your drawers, these pants were on that chair over there.” He lifts up one arm lazily and points towards a chair where you have a pile of clothes you still haven’t folded. “Can you lie down with me, please?” He asks, voice muffled by the pillow. You snicker and walk to the bed, removing your shoes in the process. Peter turns around when you climb into it, and there is a certain expression of satisfaction that you know can only come from having an orgasm.

You lie down until you’re both facing each other, and you move a strand of silver hair that covers is eye behind his ear. His eyes look a little red still, but that’s the only sign that’s left of his emotional state earlier.

“I want to know everything about you.” He whispers, leaning a little closer. “I want to know what you’re like in the mornings and how you look like when you’re tired and finally go to bed at night after a long day. I want us to fight about things we don’t agree on and then make up because we love each other so much it’s impossible to stay mad for too long. I want to be with you.” Your mouth is open in surprise because it’s  _unbelievable_  how sweet he can be, so you lean forward and press a hard kiss on his lips.

“I want to get to know you so well that I can tell what you want and think and feel just by looking at you. I want to help you understand that you’re not worthless or a loser or anything like that– you’re incredible and unique and it’s a privilege to be the person you’re in love with.”

“You mean that?” He asks hopefully, biting his lip.

“Cross my heart, hope to die.” You tease, repeating your words from earlier.

“Can we skip dinner and sleep instead?” He asks, moving closer until he can wrap his arm around you waist. You caress his cheek and nod, smiling.

“Yeah, we can.”

He hums in response and closes his eyes– falling asleep very quickly. You stay awake and stare at him for a few moments longer, but it’s not long until the constant sound of the rain and the warmth coming from Peter’s body lull you to sleep.

* * *

Peter wakes up before you and as he expected, he’s very hard. He turns to look at the clock only to find it’s only 2 a.m. and the power has returned already. He’s on his side with you holding him against your chest, and your arm is draped over his hip– fingers occasionally brushing his lower abdomen.

No wonder he’s hard, every little touch of your fingers feels like it will send him over the edge. Still, he takes a deep breath and focuses on other things– like the fact that he’s never felt more safe and protected than in this very moment.

If someone had told Peter ten years ago that he was going to fall in love with you and get the chance to fall asleep in your bed with you holding him he probably would’ve punched them in the face.

He goes back to his teenager-self and tries to remember what was going on inside his mind when he decided that the best thing he could do was to annoy you until you snapped. He wonders what could’ve been of you both if instead of taunting you he would’ve been nice to you– if he would’ve told you how nice your hair looked or how pretty you were.

Maybe you wouldn’t be together right now.

Maybe you would’ve rejected him and the opportunity of this happening would have gotten completely erased from existence. He shakes his head to try and remove those thoughts from his mind– because now that he has you he doesn’t want to even consider a reality where you’re not together.

“Are you awake?” He hears you whispering softly against his neck before your arm wraps around his waist more securely– pulling him against you.

“Yeah.” He replies in the same tone.

“Okay.” You say before pressing a soft kiss on his cheek that catches him by surprise. He turns his head and quickly kisses you on the lips before you can pull away– and you make such a lovely sound of surprise that Peter practically melts in your arms. He moves to lie on his back and you lift your head up with your hand so you can look at him. “Hi.” You whisper with a smile.

“Hello.” He answers before squirming a little on his back and your frown, analyzing him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, moving a strand of hair away from his face. He hesitates for a moment before biting his lip and looking you in the eyes.

“I’m… hard.” He confesses, feeling his face heating up. Your eyebrows shot up and a laugh escapes your mouth before you lean down and press your lips to his.

“Want me to help?” You ask, and the mischievous tone in your voice has his cock twitching and leaking.

“I thought you didn’t want us to… you know…” God, why does this have to be so awkward? He wishes you could just take him right now but no– you have to be a goddamn angel and want to wait so his experience will be the best it can be.

“Well yes, but considering that you already came when we were kissing… fooling around isn’t off the table unless you want it to.” Peter’s eyes widen and he swallows thickly before shaking his head.

“I don’t.” That’s all he manages to say because he’s worried he’ll explode in your clothes if he doesn’t use his focus to control himself, but the smirk you give him makes everything harder. _Literally._

“The fact that you’re hard in my sweatpants is turning me on more than it should.” You say in a hoarse whisper before leaning down to kiss his neck. “Pace yourself, baby. Don’t move faster than me. Can you do that?” Your words are accompanied by the sounds that your lips make against his skin and everything feels so good he wants to cry.

“Yes. Anything you ask.” He can feel your smile against his neck and his hips thrust upwards involuntarily. His closes his eyes and throws his head back on the pillow, biting his lip.

He feels your hand going underneath his t-shirt and his head turns towards you slowly, eyes opening to find you looking at him. You lean forward and capture his mouth with yours– kissing him languidly while caressing his stomach. He moans into the kiss– of course he does– and he whimpers and whines and he even begs.

“Please– please touch me.” His voice his small and a little broken, but apparently you don’t mind because you deepen the kiss and your fingers trace the elastic waistband of the pants. “Don’t tease me, I can’t take it. Please.” You place your open palm on top of his hardness and squeeze softly before rubbing him through the fabric.

Peter feels a familiar burning in the back of his eyes and before he knows it– there are tears and sobs accompanying his moans and pleas.

“You okay, baby?” You ask worriedly, stopping your motions. You look a little blurry through his tears so he blinks them away and nods, using one of his hands to grab the back of your neck so he can pull you towards him and kiss you. As he does, your hand starts moving again and the kiss starts to get interrupted by his moans, but he doesn’t pull away and you don’t, either.

And then your hand goes inside the pants and for the first time ever, your hand makes contact with his rock hard dick.

He doesn’t even find time to warn you– he explodes immediately, feeling the wetness on his thighs and he’s sure it’s in your hand as well.

He’s terrified to look at you even in the state of bliss he’s currently in– because what he just did was incredibly rude to you.

“That was so hot.”

Wait, what?

He turns to you with puffy eyes only to find you staring at your hand which his still shoved inside the sweatpants. Your have an intense look in your eyes and your mouth is slightly open in a smile, much to his surprise.

“You’re not mad?” He asks softly, frowning. You seem lost in your thoughts for a second before you turn to him again.

“What? Why would I be mad?” You take your and he sees that only the tips of your fingers have some remnants of his release on them, which helps ease his embarrassment a little. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and my hand too. And no super speed. Come with me.” You get off the bed and extend your other hand to him, and he accepts it with a little hesitation. You lead him to the bathroom and let go of his hand to turn the lights on and open the faucet. You wash your hands with some soap before drying them with a towel, while Peter just stares at you from the doorway, unmoving.

Truth be told, he feels like he’s in a dream he’s about to wake up from. You can’t be a real person who is so wonderful and amazing and, on top of it all, likes him. It just doesn’t make sense– he  _can’t_ possibly be this lucky.

“Come here, baby.” You urge him, pulling him by both of his hands. He just lets you guide him mechanically, until something inside him just snaps and he’s hugging you tightly– face hidden on your shoulder– and crying. He hates it so much that he simply can’t hold himself back when he’s with you– that all the years of repressed sadness and self-hatred simply emerge and he can’t help but start crying because it’s all so overwhelming.

But when you rub his back with one hand and run your fingers through his hair so tenderly with the other– all while placing soft kisses wherever your mouth can reach, he knows he loves it too. He adores the way you comfort him when he feels vulnerable and how safe and protected he feels in your arms– like nothing bad will ever happen to him again.

This, right here,  _has_  to be what home feels like.

* * *

“Okay kids, that will be all for today. And to answer the questions no one asked yet: yes, this will be on the next test and no, I am not going to discuss my personal life with you in any shape or form.” A chorus of disappointed groans echoes in the classroom and you can’t help but snicker at your students. “You’re dismissed! Have a nice weekend.” You wave them off and they quickly pick up their things and exit the classroom. Well– all except one.

“Professor…” You look up from the papers in your desk only to find little Sue Ellen standing in front of you clutching her books to her chest. “Are you sure you can’t tell us? Or just me… I promise I won’t tell.” You sigh with a smile and shake your head, because of course she of all your students was going to be the one who was most interested in this.

“Tell me Sue, what was your power again?” You ask, resting your chin on your fist.

“Sensing emotions, ma'am.” She answers immediately.

“Then I believe you already know what you’re asking me to tell you.” She gasps and you wink, and it looks like she’s about to explode from excitement. “I’ll see you on Monday Sue Ellen.” You say, going back to reading your papers. She scurries away and you shake your head again, very amused.

And then, you hear the door of the classroom getting locked and a smile takes over your face. From the corner of your eye you can see that the curtain of the door is now down, so no one can see inside. A second later, the curtains of the windows cover the glass before you can even register their movement.

“What was that all about?” You hear a familiar voice say behind you as two hands find their home in your shoulders and start massaging them. You lean your head forward so he can have more access– and the way Peter makes his hands vibrate to help you relax your muscles more quickly feels so good that you can’t stop the moan of pleasure that leaves your mouth. Peter’s hands suddenly stop and you lift your head up and look at him only to find him a little red in the face and taking deep breaths.

“You’re hard, aren’t you?” You ask in a whisper, giggling. “You’re such a horny person.” He doesn’t meet your eyes but he’s fighting a smile, so you return to your previous position and wait for him to continue. He does– a couple of seconds later– and you make an effort to not moan like that again, at least for now. “Anyway, Sue was asking me about us. All the kids want to know if it’s true that little ole me is dating  _Peter Maximoff, the X-Man_.” You say his name and title dramatically, and you can hear him snickering behind you.

“Did you tell them?” He asks, planting a soft kiss between your shoulder blades.

It is really hard to hold your moan right then, but somehow you manage.

“I didn’t deny it, but I told them I wasn’t going to talk about my personal life with them. They all pretty much know it’s true, anyway. But Sue Ellen wanted confirmation because she can sense our emotions so she knows I’m in love with you.”

You know what you just said– it was very deliberate. It’s been three months already since you and Peter kissed for the first time, and all this time of getting to know him inside and out has made you feel ready to finally say the words he’s been saying since the beginning. And yet, not once has he showed any kind of behavior that even suggested he was expecting you to say them back to him.

 _Of course_  it was only a matter of time for you to fall in love with him completely.

And added to that is the fact that you still haven’t had _actual_ sex– your intimacy on that front hasn’t gone beyond touching each other. And boy, does he know how to touch you in  _all_ the right places.

That is why today– when you are leaving the mansion for the weekend to go spend some time alone in a cabin you rented– you feel like it’s the perfect day to tell him how you feel.

“Say it again.” Peter whispers, voice breaking mid-sentence. “Please, I need you to–”

“I love you.” You say, turning around to find him staring at you with watery eyes and a trembling lip. “I am incredibly in love with you.” He lets out a shuddering breath and looks away– a tear rolling down his cheek the moment he blinks.

“I’m sorry, I–” You’re on your feet in record time and your arms wrap around him the second you get the chance. “Kiss me.” He says, looking at you with an intensity that practically radiates lust and desire.

You comply and do as you’re asked– and it’s so passionate that you know your lips may be swollen afterwards, but you don’t care. Peter is pulling you against him as close as possible– almost as if he’s trying to fuse your two bodies into one.

“I need you so much right now.” He moans against your lips just seconds before he’s hoisting you up and placing you on your desk, so he can wrap your legs around his waist and rub himself into you. “I need you all the time, I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too, baby.” You respond, exposing your neck so he can start kissing it. He licks it and bites it softly, all while rubbing his erection between your legs and turning you on  _tremendously._

“Can you say it again?” He asks, hands gripping your thighs tightly and face buried in your shoulder. His hips thrust into yours sporadically– you guess it’s because he simply can’t stop himself.

“I love you, Peter Maximoff. I love you with all my heart.”

“[Y/N]… I’m going to come.” He’s squirming a little so you hold him tightly against you and bury your hands on his hair like you know he loves.

“Then come, baby. I love you.” He thrusts his hips into you the moment you say those three words and rests his weight almost completely on you– because as usual his orgasms leave him spent and needing to be held. And even if this orgasm wasn’t as intense as others, he’s still a very needy person– so he wants you to hold him anyway.

“You make me come so fast.” He whimpers, joining your lips in a sloppy kiss. “I love how fast you make me come. I love you.”

“Hmmm…” You moan, biting his bottom lip and pulling a little. “I love it too.” You continue kissing for some time until you’re so turned on that you can’t continue if he doesn’t touch you. Before you can say anything Peter pulls away and looks at you like he knows exactly what you were thinking, and starts kissing you again as his hand moves to the waistband of your pants.

“Do you want to come fast, too?” He asks for confirmation and you nod before moving to lick and suck on his neck. “Good. We shouldn’t be doing this here anyway.” You can’t stop the laugh that leaves your mouth.

“It didn’t stop you the other twenty times, did it?” You say teasingly, and he snickers before nodding.

“Touché. Come here, baby.” He starts kissing you again as his hand goes beyond the fabric barrier separating your body from his skin and the first thing he does is start rubbing your clit expertly– exactly like he already knows you love. “Fuck, you’re wet.” He moans right before he thrusts one finger inside your lips and starts pulling it in and out– and then, finally, his fingers start vibrating.

You come just  _seconds_  later, burying your head on his neck so his skin will muffle the moans that are leaving your mouth. Peter pulls his hand out of your pants and as he always does, he licks his fingers clean while moaning and whimpering.

“Delicious…” He mumbles, closing his eyes. You’re sure he doesn’t really understand what him doing that truly does to you– because he does it simply because he wants it, not for your benefit. That’s why it’s even more hot, because his pleasure is honest and pure, and simply incredible to witness. Once he’s done he looks almost hypnotized and you have to touch him and kiss him to bring him back to reality with you.

“You ready, sweetheart?” You ask and he nods before pulling away from you. You get on your feet again and rearrange your messy clothes and hair, and as Peter opens the curtains again you pick up your bag and just as you’re going to start organizing the papers on your desk so you can take them with you, Peter is already handing them to you in a neatly organized pile with a proud smile on his face. “Perfect. Thank you so much, baby.” You peck his lips and he grins widely.

“Okay just– steel yourself.” He warns and you nod, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes and the next thing you know, you’re dizzy and as your eyes open you see you’re already in your room. Peter takes your things from your hands and leaves them in the bed before grabbing your face in his hands and inspecting you carefully. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You reassure him, turning your head to the side to kiss his palm. “I promise.”

“Wait a second.” Before you even finish nodding he’s already showered and changed in front of you. “Okay, just… throw whatever you want to take on the bed and I’ll pack it. I want us to go as soon as possible.” His voice turns a little whiny on the last part– so you laugh and kiss him softly.

“Just a little bit longer and we’ll leave, okay baby?” He nods and you get to work– which would have been easier if you had actually gotten your things ready the previous night as you originally wanted to– but Peter had been feeling _extremely_  needy after not seeing you all day and you held him in your arms for most of the night as you kissed and got lost in each other.

It was  _completely_  worth it.

* * *

According to your bedside clock, it only took Peter five minutes to pack everything you wanted to take to the cabin– because his own bag was already prepared and waiting by the foot of your bed.

Now you’re inside the bathroom showering, and that means that he only has to wait a few more minutes before you start driving towards the cabin you rented.

Normally, the idea of having to drive somewhere would make Peter want to rip off all the hairs on his head, but there is simply something about you that makes him savor every second you get to spend together– that makes everything slow down and makes him want to move at your speed so he can enjoy every moment he’s with you.

So, naturally, the idea of driving with you towards the cabin where you’re going to spend an entire weekend completely alone has him almost running on the walls from excitement. The cabin is three hours away from the mansion and he simply can’t wait to be alone with you in your car and talk and laugh and joke around and take pictures together while he tells you how in love with you he is– and you… and you…

You’re in love with him, too.

How did that happen? How could you– the most incredible woman that has ever walked the face of the Earth, according to Peter– fall in love with him, of all people?

“Why are you smiling like that?” You say with a laugh from the door of the bathroom as you dry your hair with a towel, and Peter wonders if you’ve ever looked more beautiful than right now.

Maybe you have, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter– he’s in front of you, grinning widely, in less than a second. Your hair and clothes move with the gust of wind he creates and you laugh out loud, a little surprised.

“I was thinking…” He says, not continuing. You roll your eyes and kiss his cheek before walking to your dresser, where your hairbrush is.

“About what, exactly?” He’s next to you before you end the sentence and takes the hairbrush from your hand, motioning to your chair so he can brush your hair more easily. You sit down and he begins– careful to not pull too hard and hurt you.

“About you.” He responds to your question, focusing on a knot that doesn’t want to disappear.

“Ohhh…” You say exaggeratedly, wiggling your eyebrows. He narrows his eyes at you playfully and pulls a little on a strand of hair, which makes you laugh even harder. “What about me, though?” He focuses on your hair and takes a few moments to answer. He’s really enjoying the playfulness of the moment and he knows that if he talks about the fact that you told him you love him and how that makes him feel, the situation will probably turn serious and it will end up with him kneeling in front of you while you hold him– because you create such strong tidal waves of feelings and emotions in him that you simply  _had_ to be the only person who is capable of grounding him and making him regain control of himself.

Still, he bites his lip, takes a deep breath and answers your question.

“About how happy it makes me feel that you love me.” He answers almost absentmindedly, still focusing on your hair. “And how much I love you.”

“You know what, Peter Maximoff?” You say, throwing your head back to look up at him. He stops his motions and focuses on your face.

“What?” He asks, trying to fight a smile.

“You are, without a doubt, the sweetest, cutest, most adorable, most amazing person I’ve ever loved. Not to mention the hottest.” Peter laughs but it’s a little choked because once again, he’s tearing up. He hopes there comes a moment in your relationship when he doesn’t start crying every time you say something like this to him, or every time you make him come, or every time he has a bad nightmare and you hold him if he’s scared and whisper sweet words and make him feel like you’ll protect him from everything.

Or maybe he doesn’t want a moment like that to come– because every time he cries with you it means pleasure, happiness or both. It means so much happiness that he can’t take it– he feels so overwhelmed that the only way he has to feel relief is through is tears and that can’t be a bad thing.

 _No–_  that’s not a bad thing at all.

* * *

You love it when Peter cries. Not because you enjoy his pain– because every time he cries of sadness you end up crying right along with him– but because you love seeing him happy like right now. You’ve talked enough about how it makes him feel that he never got to meet his father and that Erik still doesn’t know he’s his son– and you know that he has abandonment issues rooted deep inside of him.

For the first month of your relationship he constantly thought you were going to break up with him at any point, and it always seemed like he was enjoying every moment with you as if it was going to be the last. It was when you confronted him about it that his self-deprecating humor got to an entirely new high– a point where you felt scared for him. You didn’t sleep that night– you talked for hours about his fears and yours, and by the end of it Peter had been so emotionally spent that the only thing he’d been able to do was lie on top of you while you reassured him that you weren’t leaving him any time soon. It had been a Saturday that you spent together being lazy in your bed and occasionally touching each other, but it had been slow and soft and everything you both had needed after your heart-to-heart.

The thing is that he cries a lot and very often– but aside from the times where it’s out of fear or because he’s sad– it’s mostly in situations where he’s overwhelmed by the good kind of emotions. It worried you at first that every time he came he cried, but very soon you learned to appreciate the strength that showing you that amount of vulnerability requires from him– because it is a side of him no one but you has the pleasure of knowing.

So yes, you love it when Peter cries.

You grab the hand he has on your shoulder and bring it to your mouth to kiss it softly, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath while you do. You let go and stand up to walk to him, where he stands with his eyes still closed. You bury your fingers on the hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you for a kiss he reciprocates immediately– and not only that, he bends his knees, grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist without separating your lips even once.

“You make me feel so good, [Y/N].” He breathes as his tongue licks your bottom lip and his rock hard erection presses against your thigh. “I love you. Do you really love me too?”

“Yes baby, I love you. I love you so much, Peter.” He walks forward until you feel the wall against your back, and he unbuttons your pants before sliding his hand inside. You bite your lip as a groan rattles your throat and Peter’s fingers vibrate both against your clit and inside your pussy, making you feel so much pleasure you almost see stars.

You want to say  _‘fuck it all’_  and tell Peter to undress so you can ride him until neither of you can move– but you simply can’t let it happen because his first time isn’t going to be a quickie right before you leave.

No. Even though he doesn’t know it yet– if he feels ready for it his first time is going to be tonight while you’re both alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere– and if that ends up happening you have a feeling you’re not going to be able to stop from then on.

* * *

Peter has been giving you the most adorable looks for _the whole time_ that it has taken you to drive towards the cabin. He’s been kissing your hand and leaning into your shoulder constantly, desperate to be close to you.

“I know it’s hard for you to go to a place like this. You probably feel it’s been like a week already.” You joke, looking at him for a moment and then back at the road. From the corner of your eye you see him shaking his head.

“No, it hasn’t. You make things go slow.” He confesses, biting his lip. “I love being just the two of us. I could get used to this.”

“I wonder if you realize you say the most adorable things or if you’re just like that naturally.” You see his cheeks reddening and giggle, and he hides his face on his hands before regaining his composure.

“What can I say? I’m a charmer and I’m in love with you. That’s a dangerous combination.” He teases, face serious.

“Well, then it’s a good thing that I’m in love with you too, isn’t it?” He bites his lip and grins widely before nodding.

“There can’t be anything that feels nicer than hearing you say that. I didn’t know how much I needed it until today.” He says, grin slowly disappearing until the mood inside car turns into something a little more intense.

“I love you, Peter Maximoff.  _I love you with all my heart_.” You whisper, looking at him for a moment. He squirms a little in his seat and winces before a tiny whimper leaves his lips and his eyes close. “Baby?” You ask, moving your hand to caress the back of his neck. You scratch his skin and bury your fingers in his hair, and when he opens his eyes again to look at you can see they are filled with tears.

“[Y/N]… I need you so much right now…” He moans, moving his head until his lips make contact with your forearm. He starts kissing it and biting it softly while little moans continuously leave his lips. “How long till we get home?” He asks and you don’t think he realized the word he just used. You’re not even sure if you should be feeling all the emotions that are now threatening to overwhelm you, but the fact that he called the place where you’re going to be alone ‘ _home’_ means a lot more to you than you could’ve imagined. And as you look down at his lap and notice how hard he already is and because you know you’re around five minutes away from reaching your destination, you know that your plans have changed. You wanted to have dinner with Peter and then light up some candles and tell him what you had planned, but you now realize that there is no need to wait for all of that.

“Baby, we’re almost there. You think you can wait just a little bit longer? It’s just a couple minutes.” He whimpers and nods before sniffling softly and looking at you.

“I love you.” He says, kissing your forearm one last time before you let go of his hair. You make a turn to the left and you can see the cabin approaching fast, and Peter gets more and more restless by the second.

When the car stops in front of the cabin you already know what’s coming. Peter takes his seatbelt off at an impossible speed and he takes yours too, and before you know it there is a silver haired, needy speedster straddling your lap.

“I need you so much. I’m so hard, [Y/N].” He mumbles before grabbing the sides of your face and leaning forward to kiss you. Your hands grip his hips as he begins grinding into you while devouring your mouth. His tongue pursues yours relentlessly, and he only pulls away when a moan stops him from continuing.

You’re having the time of your life with him like this– but you have to remember your change of plans.

“Peter, baby.” You say in between kisses. He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you closer. “I have to tell you something.”

“Can’t it wait?” He asks, moving down to lick and kiss your neck.

“I don’t think you’ll want to wait for it.” You respond, gasping in pleasure when he sucks on your sweet spot. That catches his attention and he pulls away, looking at you with a tiny frown. He settles on your lap and gives you an expectant look. Your hands move to the hem of his t-shirt and you tease the skin of his lower abdomen with gentle fingers until you finally get them underneath it and they caress his skin until they settle on his back. He falls forward into you looking as if he just melted because of your touch and rests his forehead against yours with closed eyes.

“Please tell me.” He begs, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I wanted to tell you that… from this moment on… whenever you feel like you’re ready for it…” His eyes open wide and he jerks back, and you know he already know what you’re going to say. “We can make love.”

“[Y/N]…” He whispers, voice breaking as tears begin falling down his cheeks. You dry them as they appear, but more keep taking their places. “I need you right now. I want to do it right now, please.” He sobs, holding tightly onto the hands you have on his cheeks. “I have never wanted anything more than this.” You lean forward and kiss him softly, reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. Let’s go inside.” He looks at you for a moment and you roll your eyes with a smile. “The keys are in my pocket.” One second after you find yourself sitting in an armchair inside the cabin with Peter kneeling in front of you, resting his face on your thigh as he looks up at you. “Hi, gorgeous.” You say lovingly, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb. He looks worried about something.

“I don’t have condoms and I looked through your purse and you don’t have any either.” He says, sniffling.

“Oooh… that.” You say, burying your hand on his hair. “That’s because I’m on birth control. We don’t need condoms.” His eyes widen and he removes his head from your thigh, looking at you with such an intense stare it makes your underwear get even more wet.

He spreads your legs and places himself in between them before grabbing the back of your knees and pulling you slowly towards him until his face is buried on your stomach. He wraps his arms around you and you wrap yours around his head, wanting nothing more than kiss him but hating that you are unable to do so.

“Please make love to me now, [Y/N].” He begs in a tiny, broken whisper. “I need you more than I need to breathe.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom, baby. Do you want us to go there together or do you want to take me there?” You ask, leaning down to press a kiss on top of his head.

“Together.” He answers, pulling back from you. He stands up and you do as well– and the moment you get the chance you pull him towards you and kiss him deeply.

“I love you, Peter Maximoff.” You say once you pull away and he smiles bashfully, biting his lip.

“And I love you, [F/N].”

“Come on, now.” You say, intertwining your fingers with his and pulling him towards the door you know leads to the master bedroom. Once you’re both inside you stand in front of the bed looking at each other, until you push your hands inside Peter’s leather jacket and help him get it off.

From then it’s both of you undressing the other while kissing and touching each other, and it isn’t until he takes your own shirt off that it seems he finally realizes this is truly happening. You reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and let it fall to the floor in front of you, and Peter looks like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Touch me.” You say, and with trembling hands he obeys your command. His hands are soft as they fondle your naked breasts and it’s awkward and inexperienced– but it’s  _Peter_  and that means it’s perfect.

“You’re– you’re…” He stutters, seemingly mesmerized. “Magnificent.” He concludes, looking at you in the eyes. “There is no other human in this world that compares to you.” You snicker and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his naked chest towards your own.

“That’s going a bit too far, gorgeous.” You say, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. He pulls away and shakes his head, making you frown.

“No, it’s not. You’re amazing, [Y/N]. You’re…” He stops himself so you pull him with you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed and he’s straddling your lap again.

“I’m what, baby?” You ask, rubbing his sides as he looks at anything but you. He bites his lip and you can see it in his eyes that he’s feeling insecure about himself. “Talk to me, Peter. I love you with all my heart.”

“You’re so much better than me.” He mumbles, looking down. You grab his chin and force him to meet your eyes.

“I’m not.” You respond decisively.

“You know you are.” He says with a shrug of his shoulders, tracing your shoulder and arm with his finger until he reaches your hand, where he locks your fingers together.

“Baby, look at me.” He does, albeit reluctantly. “I’m not better than you. I know you’re not ready to see that yet but I promise I’ll help you get there. You’re fantastic, Peter. You’re a hero in every sense of the word and you’re magnificent as well. I love you so much.” His bottom lip trembles and he just nods, looking away. “Now… undress me, mister.” You say in an exaggerated tone while wiggling your eyebrows and he laughs heartily at you.  _Good._ He should be happy right now.

He unbuttons your jeans as you take your shoes off with your feet and pulls them down until you’re only wearing your underwear. He stands and simply looks at you– looking like he’s basking in the sight of you.

You’re every bit as turned on as he is– but he’s so eager that you have to be the one who balances out his desperation today. There will be other times in the future when you’ll be able to get completely lost in the passion of the moment, but today isn’t one of them.

As Peter unbuttons his own pants you can’t help but think about all your memories with him in them– and how they seem to turn from something dark into something filled with light and happiness.

This, right here, is  _exactly_ where you were always supposed to end up.

* * *

Peter is going to come in his pants right now.

Or maybe not.

Who knows? He probably will, because you look so impossibly beautiful laying on top of the bed wearing nothing but your underwear that he feels that he can come just by the sight of you.

That’s what you do to him. That’s the kind of effect– the kind of _power_ you hold over him, and it’s _fantastic._

His own pants fall to the floor and he takes everything but his boxers off faster than you can process, until he’s standing in front of you waiting for you to say something.

His hands cover his erection almost immediately, because he can’t help but feel embarrassed. He’s never been so _bare_  in front of you, even if you’ve already touched him countless times– just like this is the first time you are bare in front of him.

“Baby, come here.” You say softly, sitting up and extending your hand to him. He loves the way you are with him– so patient and so nice and he simply can’t believe this is where you two ended up considering where you come from.

As the years have passed, Peter had become increasingly worried about his first time and the person he was going to share it with, and the way they were going to react to a man his age never having had sex before.

Thankfully, it’s _you_  who shares this moment with him and he could not be happier about it. You have been patient and helpful and loving and kind and you always try to make him feel better about himself– and it’s slowly working.

He takes a hold of your hand and climbs on the bed, kneeling in front of you before you lean back on the mattress and pull him on top of you. You start kissing almost immediately, and Peter grinds his hips into yours without even realizing what he’s doing.

“So good– feels so good…” That’s as much as he can say with words, because the feeling of your body against his like this left him unable to speak. Your hands roam his back and then he feels your fingers lifting the waistband of his boxers before you slide your hands inside and grip one ass cheek in each hand– forcing him to grind harder into you. “Ah– yes!” He whimpers and moans and  _he’s so fucking hard–_  he doesn’t know how long he will last once he’s inside you.

He has to make sure you enjoy this as much as he knows he will, and he knows what to do to make that happen. He flips you over so now you are the one who’s on top– and it’s almost shocking how his body reacts to the change of position.

 _This_ is how it’s supposed to be– how Peter wants it to be. You on top of him. Him underneath you as your weight settles on his lap. _This is perfect._

His hands caresses your thighs and he looks at you in search of approval– just to make sure you know what he wants to do. Not only does he get his answer by the way you nod but you take it one step further and guide his hand between your legs. He feels the wetness in the fabric and he lets out a shuddering breath at the sensation, before he pushes it to the side like he’s so used to doing and inserts one finger easily. He starts vibrating it almost immediately, and the sight of you arching your back and moaning on top of him is another thing that could easily send him over the edge. He slides in another finger and begins rubbing your clit with his thumb– and it’s not long after that you’re screaming and moaning– and he knows he just made you orgasm.

Being responsible for your pleasure is one of the things he’s proudest of.

“Fuck, baby.” You say, falling on top of him and kissing him sloppily. He loves you so much after you orgasm– you get all lazy and content and it’s wonderful to see you like that. He smiles proudly and you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder as his arms hold you against him. “Can I tell you a secret?” You whisper against his ear, and a giggle escapes your mouth before you become serious again.

“Yes, you can.” He says in a serious tone, nodding fervently. You giggle again and nibble on his earlobe for a moment before speaking again, making his dick twitch in anticipation.

“I love you.” You whisper before kissing his cheek, his eye and then his lips.

Peter feels overwhelmed by his own happiness and caresses your cheek as he stares at you lovingly.

“That’s a beautiful secret.” He whispers, tracing your lips with his finger. You pucker your lips and place a tiny kiss on the tip, making him smile. “I love you too.” You grin and place a chaste kiss on his mouth before sitting up again. Your hands move to the waistband of his boxers, but this time you slowly pull them down until his dick is finally free– standing up proudly and leaking precum just as he expected. You have a hungry look in your eyes and he feels a boost of confidence because it means you like what you see– and that’s wonderful.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the right time to say this but I have seen my fair share of dicks…” He groans and covers his eyes, because the last thing he wants to think about right now is you with other men. “Shh, I have a point, baby. I promise. Look at me.” He uncovers his eyes and looks at you, crossing his arms while pouting. He can’t help himself, he doesn’t like this subject. “Like I said, I have seen my fair share of dicks but, without a doubt, yours is the best one I’ve ever seen in my entire life. No lies. Your dick is beautiful.” Okay, maybe he  _does_  like where this conversation is going. He feels his neck and cheeks heating up, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. You take his boxers off completely and throw them to the floor before removing your own underwear.

And now, finally, after months of the sweet torture of waiting, you are completely naked for him to see.

He’s not prepared for the onslaught of emotions that you climbing on top of him again and making him sit up so you can wrap your legs around his waist creates in him– for the pleasure the feeling of his cock rubbing your bare pussy for the first time makes him feel all over his body.

He’s crying before he can stop himself– and you’re right there to hold him in your arms and make sure he feels better, like you always do.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay. I’m here and I love you.” You reassure in a whisper against his ear and he nods, sniffling softly.

It’s happiness and love and bliss and a little fear and the memories of all the years he spent alone, and all the things that having you so close to him constantly generate inside him that has him crying– and the only thing he knows for sure is that he needs to make love right now. He can’t wait anymore.

“[Y/N], please. I need you.” You nod and reach between your bodies to take a hold of his dick and guide him towards your entrance, and as you lift your body up and his tip brushes your lips, Peter feels like his life is about to change forever.

You lower into him slowly and he’s now overwhelmed not only by his emotions but also by your moans and expressions of pleasure and most importantly, by the feeling of your pussy around his throbbing cock.

He loses his ability to form coherent thoughts and his mind becomes an explosion of bright colors and emotions and sounds and  _everything feels as if it just fell into place._

You lean your forehead against his and rest your hands on his shoulders as you ride him torturingly slowly, and his arms are wrapped tightly around your back– hugging you as close to him as possible.

His tears are impossible to stop now– but instead of sobbing he’s whimpering and moaning and whispering your name, and never before in his life has he felt something as wonderful and perfect as this.

It’s not even the sex– it’s the fact that it’s you and that you waited until you were both crazy about each other, until you couldn’t restrain your need to become one anymore.

It’s that you waited until he knew you loved him with all your heart.

It’s  _everything_ – and that makes it perfect.

“You feel so good, Peter, so good…” You moan, rotating your hips and making him see starts. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, I’m gonna come soon–” He groans as you kiss his tears away. “Want you to come with me…” He bites your shoulder softly, moving his hands to grip your ass to make you bounce a little faster and harder.

“Mmmm baby, don’t hold yourself back for me.” You throw your head back and Peter seizes the opportunity to lick your neck. “Come whenever you’re ready.”

He could do it this instant if he wanted to, because he’s been on the verge of exploding since you were still on the car– but he doesn’t want to come so quickly. He knows that making you orgasm again before he does would maximize his own pleasure a hundred times, so he does what he knows you love– he makes his thumb vibrate and uses it to rub your clit while you ride him. Your eyes widen in surprise when you feel him and you moan loudly, nails burying themselves on his skin deep enough to leave marks. Good. He wants you to leave marks on his body to remind him of what you did today.

“Oh my God, Peter, keep doing that.” You breathe out, bouncing on him a little faster. “Yes,  _yes!_  Oh baby, you feel so fucking good.” You lean forward and then you’re kissing him as best as you can with all the moans that leave your mouth, but that matters very little because all Peter is focusing on is not coming so you can do it together. “Baby, _I’m close._ ” You say with a low groan, biting his bottom lip and pulling slightly. Yes, that is what he was waiting for. He presses down on your clit as you move your hips in circular motions and the moment he recognizes the arrival of your orgasm he bottoms out and empties himself inside of you with a scream of your name.

He’s crying and whimpering and you’re moaning and  _nothing has ever felt as right and wonderful and perfect and blissful_ as this moment in his entire life.

Peter falls back into the mattress with you on top of him still, and his cock slips out of you as you accommodate over his body.

“I haven’t been with a guy able to make me come twice in such a short amount of time before.” You whisper against his neck while he plays with your fingers, and his chest almost swells with pride at your confession.

“I have never been with a girl who made me feel what you just did so… let’s call it even.” He replies teasingly, sniffling softly, and you bite his neck in retaliation.

“I’m going to clean up, I’ll be right back and I’ll dry those tears, I promise.” You say, planting a hard kiss on his lips before lifting yourself off of him and running towards the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

As Peter waits for you to come back to the bed, he suddenly feels like he’s floating away, like nothing can touch him and he’s completely free of all his worries and problems and insecurities.

It  _might_ be the afterglow speaking, though.

“Hey, babe?” He hears you asking you from the bathroom and his stomach does a somersault at the term of endearment.

“Yeah?” He yells back, waiting for your response.

“So, there’s this big bathtub here and I was thinking–”

You don’t have to say anything else, he’s already there.

* * *

“–we could take a ba _JESUS!_ ” You can’t say that seeing Peter standing naked in the middle of the bathroom didn’t startle you, because it  _definitely_ did.

There is a wide, naughty grin on his face and once the shock subsides you can’t help but laugh, because his eagerness is  _adorable._

“ _Yes._ ” He says with a nod, and you hear the sound of the water filling up the tub behind you, but to you he didn’t even move.

“Come here.” You say, opening your arms for him. He’s resting his head on your shoulder less than a second later, arms wrapped around your back. “Are you okay?” You feel him nodding and he hugs you a little tighter while you rub his back comfortingly. “You cried a lot back there, beautiful.”

“Everything felt so good and I love you so much… I couldn’t take it. I’m sorry.” He mumbles, starting to grind you against him. You smile and bury your fingers on his hair, scratching his scalp.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Peter. It was amazing.” You turn and see that the tub is almost full– so, much to Peter’s visible dismay, you pull away to close the tap before getting in. You spread your legs and lean back, extending your hand to invite him in. He walks up to you and takes your hand before he too gets inside, settling comfortably against your chest.

He moans loudly when your hands start to roam his chest and you grin, because he’s so easy to tease that you could  _kiss his cheek_  and turn him on.

“This feels right.” He mumbles, leaning his head back on your shoulder and searching for your mouth until you join your lips together. “It wouldn’t be hard getting used to it– ah!” You just took a hold of his dick which, unsurprisingly, is hard again. “Keep kissing me, please.” Your tongue makes contact with his and his dick twitches in your hand. “You make me feel so safe.” He confesses against your lips before whimpering softly.

“And you make me feel like the luckiest woman alive, baby.” He smiles into the kiss and then he simply has to pull away, because his body is completely relaxed against you and he can barely move anymore.

His trembling hand removes yours from his dick and places them on his stomach, where he covers them with his own.

“I don’t wanna come in the water.” He explains. “Can you just hold me for a while?” You nod and kiss his cheek, and he turns his face so you can kiss him properly again. His eyes are glazed over when he looks at you– making him look as if he’s miles away from here.

“What are you thinking?” You ask, pulling him a little closer and holding him a little tighter. He makes a small sound of contentment at that and buries his face on your shoulder.

“I’m thinking about our past. But I don’t wanna make you sad or anything so just forget it. Today was too perfect to talk about that.” You rub his belly and he pushes himself further back into you.

“If you were thinking about it then it’s probably important. Share it with me, beautiful.” You encourage softly.

“I was thinking that– that you used to be the person that made me feel most insecure about myself and now you are the person that makes me feel like I’m capable of doing anything I want to do.” You ponder his words and he stays quiet for a moment, and you feel him tensing up. “It’s stupid, forget I said anything.”

“No, baby, no. It’s not stupid.” You soothe, kissing his cheek. “You just got me thinking about all the things that had to happen for us to end up right here, right now.” A laugh escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Can you imagine what our old classmates would think if they knew we ended up falling in love?”

“ _It was a matter of time._ ” He says, doing a weird accented voice.

“ _Ohh_ , someone is confident.” You tease, biting his shoulder. He yelps in surprise and then laughs a little.

“I think they would be surprised about you, but not me, not really.” He says, his tone sounding a little far away.

“And why is that?” You ask, starting to kiss is shoulder and then moving to his neck. His stomach tenses underneath your hands and he grips them a little tighter as a small gasp leaves his lips.

“The way I couldn’t stop talking about you after you were gone… I remember feeling like something was missing and I needed it back desperately.” He moans when you bite on his skin and one of his hands goes to the back of your head to hold you in place. “I’m pretty sure they knew that deep down my feelings for you weren’t really hate but something more complicated I wasn’t ready to face.”

“Peter Maximoff, you are an absolute cutie pie. I love you.” He throws his head back and laughs out loud.

“I’m not a cutie pie. I’m an incredibly handsome adult male.” Now it’s  _your_  turn to laugh.

“And who said they’re mutually exclusive?” You reply teasingly, and he turns around to look at you with a surprised smile before joining your lips together.

“Can I sit on your lap? I want to kiss you better.” He mumbles against your lips and you nod, unwrapping your arms from his stomach. The water moves as he turns around and sits down on top of you, pulling you forward so he has more space behind you to wrap his legs around your waist. His soft hands grab both sides of your face before he leans down and starts kissing you again, and it’s lazy and slow and loving and fits the mood perfectly. Your hands roam his back until your arms are wrapped loosely around him, and the way he whimpers against your lips is only helping you get ready to be with him again.

“Fuck Peter, you’re such a good kisser.” You praise, moving your mouth to his neck. One of your hands leaves his back to grip his hair so you can have more access to his skin, and his head falls back and he groans lowly, thighs wrapping a little tighter around you.

“You’re not so bad yourself, baby.” He breathes out as his hands grip the sides of the bathtub to steel himself. “You make me feel so good.”  You pull away and see him biting his lip with his eyes closed tightly– a clear expression of pleasure. When he notices what you did he opens his eyes again, frowning slightly.

“Don’t stop!” He whines, pouting. “Leave a mark.” He points to his collarbone. “Right here.” He looks at you with a resolute look in his eyes. “And make it  _big_.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, snickering softly because he looks adorable asking you to mark him.

“Yes.  _Do it_.” You shrug your shoulders and get to work, and once you’re done and there is a huge purple bruise exactly where he asked you to leave it, Peter looks down at it with a mesmerized expression. “I love it.” He traces it with his finger as a smile slowly takes over his face. Then, he turns to look at you and his smile falters. “Can we make love again?” He asks shyly, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Yes, baby. We can. But let’s get out of here first.” He nods and stands up before exiting the bathtub, and his dick is throbbing and purple already. He helps you out and when you’re both standing together in the middle of the bathroom, he looks at you expectantly. “Do it.” You say, and a second later you’re completely dry and so is him.

“Come here.” He says, pulling you close so he can kiss you. He bends his knees and grabs the back of your thighs, and you jump so he can hoist you up and wrap your legs around his waist. “Ohhh…” He moans when his dick rubs your wet pussy. “In the bed?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“How strong are you?” You ask teasingly and he frowns, pulling away to look at you.

“Strong enough?” He replies but it sounds more like a question than an answer.

“Then how about we do it against the wall?” You suggest, and the expression on his face morphs so fast that you want to laugh.

He doesn’t answer, instead he carries you out of the bathroom and presses you against the nearest empty wall he sees. He doesn’t take too much time before entering you– and from then on you’re bouncing on his dick with your legs wrapped securely on his waist. His head is buried on your shoulder as he pounds into you and you have one hand buried on his hair and the other gripping his shoulder tightly.

“Ah,  _so fucking good_ –” He groans, kissing your neck. “I love you so much. So much.” You pull on his hair until his face is in front of yours again and he doesn’t waste any time before joining your lips together. “I love you, I love you.” He repeats like a mantra against your lips and _you know_ your orgasm is approaching fast.

“Fuck, Peter!” You moan before biting his bottom lip. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.” He whimpers and slides his tongue inside your mouth, and his thrusts become more and more erratic.

“I’m gonna come too– I’m–  _Ah!_ ” He thrusts one last time as he empties himself in you– and you feel something  _snapping_ in you before you’re overcome by pure  _bliss and pleasure._

You try to regain your breath while Peter clings to you as if you’re going to disappear, face hidden on your neck. It isn’t until you feel something wet on your skin that you realize he’s crying.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I’m here, and I love you so much.” You soothe, caressing his hair.

“I know.” He mumbles against your skin. “I just love you so much and you make me so happy that I can’t take it.” You pull his head from your shoulder and dry his tears with your hands once he’s looking at you again.

“Let’s go take a shower.” You offer with a smile. “To actually get cleaned up.” He laughs and nods, but as you try to get down he shakes his head and tightens his hold on you. “Alright then.” You say as he carries you to the bathroom again, grinning widely.

* * *

Peter is resting his chin on his arms on top of the kitchen counter as you look around the cabinets for the necessary ingredients to cook dinner.

As you move around like you know perfectly where everything is– which you probably do, now that he thinks about it– he’s overcome by fantasies of what living with you would be like.

Waking up and you being the first thing he sees, getting up before you to cook breakfast as you sleep in on weekends, watching TV on the couch on lazy days and making love whenever you feel like it.

Yes, he could definitely get used to that.

“You’ve got that dreamy look on your face again.” You say, laughing softly. “What are you thinking about?” He shrugs his shoulders– but feels his face heating up. “And now you’re blushing!” You walk up to him and he sits up straight on his stool, turning towards you. You spread his knees and place yourself between his legs, and his arms wrap around your waist loosely.

“Hi.” He says just before you lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. He notices your hands behind your back and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What you got there?” He asks, trying to look behind you. You shake your head and he hears the sound of a plastic wrapper before you bring your hand in front of him, and in it you have a Twinkie. “ _Babe_.” He moans, opening his mouth to let you feed it to him. “A woman after my own heart.” He says, swallowing. “I mean, you already own it and all… but you know what I mean.” You laugh and take a small bite of your own, and there’s a little bit of cream on your upper lip that simply  _begs him_  to lick it clean. “You got a little cream there.” He says, coming closer to you. 

“Oh, do I?” You say, feigning confusion. “What, here?” You say, licking a part of your mouth that is nowhere near the cream, and he knows you’re doing it on purpose. 

“No.” He says, shaking his head as he closes the space between you even more. “Here.” He licks your lip slowly with the tip of his tongue until it’s clean again, and he doesn’t have time to pull away because you’re already kissing him. One of his hands moves to hold your face gently while the other wraps around your back to pull you against him, while one of your hands goes to caress his upper thigh– more specifically his rock hard erection. He moans into your mouth and you giggle, pulling away.

“Is it because of your speed that you get hard so fast and so often?” He nods and pulls you into the kiss again. 

“Fast metabolism.” He clarifies, moving to kiss your neck. “And also you turn me on constantly.”

“I know I do, I feel it in my hand.” You reply teasingly, rubbing him up and down so slowly that it feels like torture. “I love how hard you get for me.” You whisper in a deep, low voice, and he can’t stop the whimper that comes out of his mouth. “Come here.” You grab the back of his neck and pull him towards you so you can kiss him– and it feels as if you’re devouring his mouth. Your tongue controls his own easily, and Peter feels his shoulders dropping because of how relaxed and satisfied being with you like this makes him feel.

“I love you so much, [Y/N].” He manages to say in between your kisses, because saying it  _all the time_  simply feels  _right_  for him.

“I love you too, horny and all.” You say, and he feels his laugh bubbling up his throat before he has to pull away because it’s impossible to kiss you like that. “It wasn’t even that funny!” You say, laughing with him.

“I know, I’m just so happy to be with you that I can’t stop myself.” He says honestly, his laugh now coming in sporadic giggles.

“My hand is still rubbing your dick, in case you forgot.” You say, pressing down a little more strongly– and Peter bites his lip as a groan rattles his chest.

“Considering that I’m about to come… I don’t need to be reminded.” You take your hand off his dick and cross your arms, giving him an unamused glare. “Why did you do thaaat?” He whines, resting his chin on your chest and pouting. “Keep touching me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not the one who forgets to clean his pants and then can’t get the stains out them.” That’s not fair– it’s not his fault that is usually the last thing on his mind after he comes, when he can be wrapped in the safety your arms instead of running off and cleaning his clothes.

“It doesn’t happen that often. Only a couple of times.” He says stubbornly, turning his head to the side so he can rest his cheek on your chest, right above your heart.

“If by a couple you mean a dozen, sure. And all the other times when you said ‘yes [Y/N], I absolutely cleaned them but it was so fast you didn’t notice’ as if I didn’t know you were lying!” You make a weird voice when you try to imitate him and you break out laughing when you finish speaking, and he follows right after.

“But I feel so good in your arms!” He whines, hugging you tightly. “It’s not my fault.”

“Okay, sure, whatever you say.” You answer and Peter can practically  _hear you_  rolling your eyes. He looks up at you with a naughty grin and rubs his leg against your thigh in a way that he  _knows_ will make you feel his erection. Your eyebrows rise up questioningly and he grabs one of your hands to place it back on his thigh. “Touch me, please. And then I’ll make you come twice in ten minutes. Promise.” Your eyes widen and there’s a beautiful, eager smile on your face that fills his stomach with butterflies.

“Okay, baby. Let’s do this.”

Life can’t get better than this.

* * *

When you wake up in the middle of the night and don’t find Peter sleeping next to you, you panic for a second and your mind immediately searches for every possible future so you can know where he is.

He’ll be back in a couple of minutes carrying food from a store that is  _two states_ away, and he’ll say he went for a run. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face when you think about that– when you think about  _him._

You think about this quite often– but the truth is that you still can’t believe that Peter Maximoff ended up being the person you fell in love with. If you had tried to see your future together a year ago and you’d seen this you would’ve thought you’d gone completely crazy.

But here you are, putting one of  _his_ hoodies on and walking outside to sit on the steps of the front porch to wait for him and surprise him, eager to see him again even though you were just sleeping with him after making love for hours.

The cold breeze moves your hair as you sit down, and you can’t help but close your eyes at the nice sensation. You take a deep breath– filling your lungs with fresh air and the lovely smell of pine trees and dry leaves, and a content smile pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“[Y/N]?” Your eyes open to find Peter standing in front of you, a bag of food in each hand and a lovestruck expression on his face. “You look so beautiful right now.” He whispers, breathing a little heavily. You smile and he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “Do you want to go inside?” You shake your head and he nods. “I’ll be right back.”

You lean back on your elbows and let your body relax to the sounds of crickets and the occasional owl, and it’s not long before you feel someone sitting in the step below the one you’re sitting and leaning back into your body.

You open your eyes and find Peter resting his head on your thigh while looking forward, tracing random patterns on your knee with his finger.

“This feels really good, doesn’t it?” You say, reaching out to pull him back so the back of his head rests on your stomach and your arms fall over his shoulders– which leaves your hands resting right where his heart is.

“It does.” He answers, moving his head just enough to kiss your arm. “But it makes me not want to go back.” He laughs but you know there is some truth to that statement– and you can’t say you don’t feel the same.

“Yeah, I know.” You reply, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head. “Anyway, it doesn’t mean we can’t come again some other time when we need a little break from everything else.” He throws his head back and looks up at you with a wide grin.

“Seriously?” He asks, a hopeful tone lacing his voice.

“Absolutely.” He closes his eyes and bites his lip, still grinning, before resuming his previous position. “Now, I know the food you brought was from two states away.” He turns his head just enough to look at you and smiles sheepishly.

“I went for a little run.” You laugh and nod, and he laughs with you. “I woke up hungry and we were out of Twinkies, which I didn’t mind because eating them from your body was awesome–”

“True.” You agree, nodding.

“–but as I was thinking about going to buy something I realized that since we left the mansion, I have barely used my speed at all.” He turns to look at you and you can’t help but frown, because that’s _not_ a good thing. His mutations is a core part of himself and you can’t believe you didn’t realize he hadn’t used it as much as he usually does until now. “No baby, don’t worry. It’s not a bad thing.” He assures you, wrapping his arm around the back on your neck to pull you down to him so he can kiss you.

You can feel his love in the way he kisses you, but you’re still worried.

“Are you sure?” You ask, biting your lip. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.” He nods and pecks your lips one last time before pulling away.

“What I was trying to say is that I went for a run to stretch my legs and all but that’s not the point– the point is that you make me so happy that I didn’t realize you made everything in my life slow down.” He twists his body so his back now rests against your thigh and he can look at you better. “What I’m trying to say is–” He stops himself and you bring your hand to caress his cheek to make sure that he knows you’re here for him and he doesn’t have to feel nervous to talk about his feelings. “I’ve always felt out of place. Like I didn’t belong because it’s practically impossible for me to be with other people because they move so slowly compared to me but with you–” He laughs and shakes his head. “With you everything slows down because I’ve never loved anything more than being with you– than being yours. You are the only person who can make everything slow down, and I just want to say thank you. Thank you for being in my life and loving me.” His voice breaks in the end as his eyes fill with tears and you’re already crying by that point, because you can’t believe how amazingly wonderful this man in front of you is– and how lucky you are that he loves you.

“Peter…” You say with a happy, watery laugh as you grab both sides of his face and pull him up to kiss him. “You say the sweetest things. I love you so much. I love you more than I’ve ever loved any other person and thank you for loving me back.” He lets out a shuddering breath and rests his forehead against yours.

“It’s still hard for me to understand how you can love me, of all people.”

“Peter…” You say, leaning forward to kiss him again. Sweet, sweet Peter, who is always insecure of your feelings for him– and if there is something in your life you’ve never been so sure of is the love you have for him right now. He deserves feeling reassured, confident that you’re not going away and that you are as in love with him as he is with you. “How could I love anyone else but you?”

The way he looks at you when you say that is so genuine, so full of love and adoration that once again your eyes overflow with tears.

“You mean that?” He asks, gripping the hands you have on his face with his own.

“With all my heart.”

And it’s the truth. No matter what the future brings and whether you’ll know it or not– the only thing that is certain is that you are  _completely in love with Peter Maximoff._

And he’s completely in love with you, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I fondly call my "monster fic". If you enjoyed it please leave a comment and tell me what you thought ♥


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